


These blades are made for skating

by vivaldis_lover



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (maybe), Alternate Universe, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Injury, Kogane used as Keith's last name, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, figure skating AU, very light angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivaldis_lover/pseuds/vivaldis_lover
Summary: Keith was not expecting a lot of thing, first of all that he would have become the training mate of Takashi Shirogane, Japanese champion and former world champion.He was not expecting them to become friends.Most of all, he was not expecting to fall in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my biggest challenge so far, as I already wrote 22k words for this fic and I'm not even half-way done.  
> Updates will be slow. Not beta'd. I'm not a native English speaker, so there may be a lot of mistakes.

Kolivan dropped the metaphorical bomb ten minutes into the morning session.

“Takashi Shirogane contacted me. He asked me if I was willing to be his new coach.”

Keith froze with the water bottle half-way through his mouth, convinced he had hallucinated what Kolivan had just said.

“You’re kidding.”

Kolivan shook his head.

Takashi fucking Shirogane. World champion three years before, four times Japanese national champion and Grand Prix final medalist multiple times, admired by half of the figure skating world – including Keith – for his musicality and stellar skating skills. The skater he took as an example of what his skating should‘ve looked like. And a man gifted with an impressive flexibility; he could pull off moves that Keith could only dream about doing.

And he wanted to train in the same rink as Keith.

“And so,” he said, acting as if it was not a big deal. “What did you tell him?”

“That I needed to make sure of a couple of things before I could give him an answer,” replied Kolivan.

“What are these things?” he asked, before grabbing a tissue to blow his nose.

“Would you be okay if I said yes?”

Keith was taken aback by Kolivan’s question. He stared at his coach with his face still half-hidden by the tissue.

“Why are you asking me? _You_ are gonna coach him, not me.”

“I want to make sure that you don’t mind having another big name athlete training here. Especially if it’s someone as famous as Takashi Shirogane,” explained Kolivan.

Kolivan most of the time demanded that Keith followed his instructions without too many questions, but their partnership had been a long one and he knew when it was better to consult Keith before making a decision.

 “Of course I’m okay,” said Keith. “Who knows, maybe he can teach me something about edgework.”

“I _really_ hope so.” From Kolivan’s voice transpired his frustration.

Keith winced. It was his and Kolivan’s cross: the price to pay for his speed on the ice was the complete absence of refinement of his steps. No matter how much he worked on it, when he competed he forgot to take his time during the step sequences and the results were rough and low quality elements.

“Now go, the landing of that Lutz looked sloppy.”

When he finally was on his lunch break, Keith went looking for Allura and Lance to give them the news of Shiro’s email. Lance and Allura belonged to the same club as Keith, but since they were ice dancers they trained with a different coach in a different rink. He found them sitting on a bench outside of the facility, making the most of the pleasant weather of April.

They three of them had know each other for quite some time. At first it had been only him and Lance, back when they were eleven years old, Lance was still not planning on being an ice dancer and was trying to foster a rivalry between them. Keith had paid little attention to Lance, who didn’t pose as a threat to him at all: Lance was not a jumper and he would have come to terms with that a year later.

That was when Allura had come into the picture.

 _There is a girl_ , they had told Lance, _an ice dancer who is looking for a partner._

Despite knowing that it would have been hard to switch disciplines, Lance had accepted. He loved skating more than he loved his one-sided rivalry.

And so Allura had come.

She was a year older than them and at the time taller than Lance. She would have admitted only a few years later, that at first she had been unsure about her new partner. It was only a few months after they had started training together, when she had stumbled on the ice and he had grasped her so tight so she wouldn’t fall, that she had though _yes, I trust him_.

She found it cheesy, but she still liked to tell people about that occasion.

“Guess what Kolivan told me today,” he said, sitting next to Allura, so that she was sandwiched between him and Lance.

“To learn how to properly greet your friends?” replied Lance.

Keith ignored him.

“Takashi Shirogane asked him to be his coach.”

He let his friends process the information, as he took out his turkey sandwich. It took them a few seconds and then they showered him with questions about when that happened, why was he leaving his coach, why Kolivan out of everyone, when was he coming.

“I just know what I told you,” replied Keith, much to his friends’ frustration. “After dropping the news, he asked me if I am okay with him being my training mate.”

“I can imagine you said, _no, why would I be okay with one of the best skaters of our generation being my rink mate_?” said Lance.

Keith chuckled.

“You gave Kolivan the okay?” asked Allura.

“I did.” He took a bite out of his sandwich. “If everything goes well, they are probably going to discuss the arrangements in the near future.”

“You’ve got to tell Hunk too,” said Lance. “Otherwise his dad is gonna have a stroke the day Shirogane walks into his shop to have his blades sharpened.”

Keith nodded, amused at the idea of Hunk’s father collapsing at the sight of Takashi Shirogane. Hunk was the son of the man who took care of their ice skates. A figure skater had to sharpen the blades of their boots after, more or less, twenty hours of practice on the ice, so naturally the three of them spent quite a lot of time in the specialized shop. They had ended up being friends with the son of the best blade sharpener in the city, not only because he was one of the kindest people they had ever met, but also because he was an amazing cook and always offered them treats when they came.

He finished his lunch and then spent some time on his phone as he waited for his gym session to start. He checked to see if there were already some rumors spreading online about Shirogane’s desire to change coach, but he found nothing. Allura and Lance kept him company.

It was the low season, so he usually didn’t come home completely exhausted. When he walked in the kitchen, he found Krolia, his mother and a detective for the city’s police department, preparing dinner.

“There’s news,” he said and told her about Shirogane as they ate.

That evening he laid awake in his bed, thinking about how training alongside Shirogane was going to be like. Taking for granted, of course, that the Japanese federation was going to agree to his decision of moving abroad and leaving the country. He wondered why, out of all the famous coaches in the United States, Shirogane had chosen Kolivan. He did not have a long history of successful skaters – although all of his students, on all levels of competition, had perfect technical preparation. Maybe there was something in his technique that he wanted to fix.

Keith was one of the few students that hadn’t left Kolivan after reaching the senior circuit. He didn’t really see a reason to leave him – not after winning the Junior World Championship and especially not after the man had lead him to become the U.S. Champion during the season that had just ended – and he was not sure he was going to find someone who could manage him as well as Kolivan. Right now, he was his only successful student on the senior level. The other students that could compete for medals were all juniors.

The news had an unexpected positive effect on Keith: Kolivan saw his focus increase a little bit, probably because he already imagined Shirogane there on the ice with him. Even in his imagination, Keith didn’t want to make a bad impression.

A week later, before his morning session on the ice, Kolivan gave Keith the second news.

“He’s moving here next month,” he said. “I hope it’s going to be a positive change for both of you.”

Keith didn’t reply to that and just skated off to finish warming up. Suddenly the idea of having Shirogane as his training mate felt very real – and overwhelming. He had no idea what kind of person the man was. He wouldn’t have felt that nervous, if he had already met him in person at least once, but Shirogane had been out of the competition for the entire season, to recover from a broken leg.

Everything he knew about him came from how the man acted on the ice during competitions. When he skated, he looked as cold as the ice, he was a man on a mission. But his personality off the ice? He had no idea what it was.

“Hey, there’s an article about Shirogane’s coaching change!” exclaimed Lance that evening, in the parking lot. They were waiting for Allura to finish changing, before going home.

“What does it say?” asked Keith.

Lance quickly scrolled through the page to find the most important parts.

“He says he hopes to improve his jump technique and add more quads to his repertoire. He can’t wait to work with the Marmora’s choreographers and…” He skipped a few lines. “And he needs a change of environment.”

Keith nodded.

“When is he moving here?” asked Lance.

“Next month. Kolivan told me this morning.”

They waved at Allura, who was finally coming out of the building.

“How is yours and Allura’s preparation going?” Keith asked.

“Pretty well, we both can’t wait to make our debut on the senior circuit,” said Lance. “But the other day, during practice, someone made a gross remark on her weight. We were thinking about how we should make him pay for that.”

Keith groaned. He wondered if all that talking about her body had ever made Allura feel bad about herself. “I don’t think I ever heard Kolivan say something nasty about the girls in the group.”

“Because Kolivan is a good coach,” Lance pointed out. “Have you decided the music for the next season?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I’m selecting a few tracks and we will pick from there. Kolivan wants Ulaz to prepare the choreography before Shirogane arrives, so he can focus on him when he arrives,” explained Keith.

“Makes sense.”

He wondered if Kolivan was just as nervous at the idea of having a former world champion training under him. It would have been bad for his reputation if a successful skater had started collecting bad results after coming to him. He knew Kolivan wanted to give attention to all his students equally, but maybe having someone so famous in the group was going to change that.

“Don’t forget about me when Shirogane comes, alright?” he said to Kolivan the next day, half-jokingly.

His coach looked almost offended. “Of course I won’t, cub.”

He had earned that nickname when he’d won the Junior World Championship three seasons before, skating a long program to the soundtrack of The Lion King. Thankfully, Kolivan didn’t use it often.

“One day,” replied Keith, picking up his water bottle, “you will call me like that in public and you will instantly kill my reputation.”

That afternoon they looked at the music that he had picked so far and Kolivan pointed out which tracks where better suited to be the musical base for a choreography. It was important for Kolivan that the skater, after reaching the senior level, gave their input when preparing the programs. He trusted his students to be experienced enough to do so. With Keith especially, he hoped this kind of work could help him understand in which direction he wanted to take his own skating.

He had the feeling that Keith was sometimes lost, like he didn’t know exactly what he was trying to achieve.

A month finally passed and the tenth of May was dangerously close. Sunday evening Keith went to bed knowing the next day he would have found at the rink his new training mate, Takashi Shirogane himself.

He looked up to the guy and in a way he owed his World Junior Champion title to him. Three years before he had watched Shirogane climb up from the fourth place to win the gold medal and that had lit a fire in him.  He didn’t want to make a bad impression on him. He didn’t want to find out that Shirogane had a horrible personality either.

_“Oh, I hope he is not a stuck up.”_

*

 

The trip to the rink felt awfully long the next morning (and the fact that he had overslept a little contributed to the feeling).

He run into the facility and changed clothes at the speed of light, praying that Kolivan was not going to murder him. He had only once, during his years with Kolivan, came in seriously late to practice and he still hadn’t forgot the scold he had given him.

“Kolivan, I’m here! Sorry I’m late!” he shouted, running into the rink and trying to avoid dropping everything in his hands – water bottle, boots, tissues and track jacket. He realized too late how much attention he would have drawn to himself by making that entrance. Almost everyone in the rink turned to him.

That _almost everyone_ included, of course, his new training mate.

 _“Well done, Keith,”_ he told himself, as he watched Shiro gently jog in his direction. It was not how he was hoping for their first meeting to go.

“Keith, right?” asked Shirogane, extending a hand.

“That’s my name, yes. Sorry for that entrance,” said Keith, shaking his hand.

Shirogane chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m Takashi Shirogane, by the way. You can call me Shiro.”

He spoke a good English, with a strong Japanese accent.

“Yeah, I know who you are,” replied Keith and immediately regretted it. Shiro tilted his head with an undecipherable expression on his face.

“Well, not introducing myself would feel presumptuous,” explained Shiro.

Keith shifted his weight, uncomfortable. He did not like how that first conversation was going. “You’re probably right.” He looked around for a bench. “Sorry, I have to start warming up,” he said to cut the conversation short.

“Alright,” said Shiro and watched Keith scurry away.

Kolivan didn’t tell him anything about his tardiness, opting for a silent glare. As he warmed up, Keith took the opportunity to observe Shiro. He was quite tall for a figure skater and he appeared a lot leaner in person than how he looked on camera. He was still very muscular and athletic – which was, in a way, a contrast to his light and musical skating –, but he looked less burly. He asked himself how different his performances were, too, when seen live.

He got even more lost into staring at him, when Shiro did a split with ease.

For the entire morning, he tried to stay as far from him as possible. He was just as intimidated as he had anticipated. Shiro seemed nice, but coming in late the day they started training together had left a bad taste in his mouth. He concentrated on his own skating, instead, hoping to make a better impression through that.

Shiro didn’t try to approach him during practice either. Good. He didn’t want to crash on the ice because he got distracted by him. Which would have happened if Shiro had gotten too close.

“Keith, hold your landings a little longer,” Kolivan told him at some point, while he was practicing quadruple jumps.

After a while, Shiro glided beside him, making little to no noise as he passed. So it was true that his blades were almost silent when he skated. It was a rare characteristic and it made Keith wonder how it was possible to move like that on the ice, if it was something he’d achieved through practice or if it was innate.

He almost ran into the barrier and his coach shot him a concerned look.

When it was time for lunch, Shiro approached him again, with a request.

“Do you mind if we have lunch together?” he asked.

Keith blinked a few times before actually answering, too surprised by Shiro’s question.

“No, it’s fine,” he finally said.

 _“Maybe he didn’t find our first meeting too awkward,”_ he thought. _“Or maybe it’s just because I’m the closest to him in age…”_

He led Shiro outside. It was starting to get a little too hot to have a pleasant meal in the sun, but they still opted for the tables placed in the square of green right in front of the facility.

“So,” started Keith, casually picking at the chicken in his salad. “Do you like it here?”

Shiro looked around, as if he was only then noticing that he was in a different country. “I haven’t seen much of the city. Too busy moving.”

“Huh,” commented Keith. “Listen, I…”

Shiro was looking at him with the same indecipherable expression that he had that morning, a faint smile on his lips and gentle eyes that did not let through whatever he was thinking.

“I shouldn’t have said that I already know who you are, earlier. It came out wrong,” he finished.

Finally, Shiro looked surprised. “Why? It was flattering.”

“Oh?” Keith stared at him a little too long. “So, you didn’t take it badly.”

Shiro chuckled. “Of course not.”

After all, making a bad impression was all in his mind. Better that way.

“Maybe you can show me around one of these days,” said Shiro, moving back to the subject of the city. When Keith failed to reply, he added: “If you don’t mind, of course.”

“No! Of course not.” He took a bite of his salad. “Of course not.”

 _“I just didn’t think you’d want us to be friends,”_ he thought.

“I guess I should also show you where we fix our blades,” he said out loud.

“That would be awesome.”

This time, their conversation was cut short by Lance and Allura’s arrival, who were equally excited to meet Shiro. Keith groaned when he saw Lance making exaggerated gestures of excitement in the distance, at the sight of Shiro.

_“At least I’m not as embarrassing as him.”_

For the rest of the meal, Keith let Lance and Allura shower Shiro with questions. He just wished they’d been a little less invasive. Shiro didn’t seem to mind, he answered all their questions with patience and kindness. He was probably used to this.

For the entirety of the time spent in the gym and the last session on the ice, Keith kept his distance from Shiro. The man didn’t think he was an idiot – now he didn’t want him to think he acted like an obnoxious fan. Lance and Allura were in a different situation, they didn’t have to share the ice with him all day long. He simply stole a few glances during short breaks to catch his breath: Shiro talking with Kolivan. Shiro doing a spin. Shiro stopping to drink.

Until they day before they were complete strangers and now he knew his nickname.

He wished for everything to go well.


	2. Chapter 2

“Keith, let’s do a rerun of the short program,” said Kolivan.

They had opted for a jazzy, upbeat piece for Keith’s short that season. It was the kind of music that was better suited him: he still didn’t have the performance skills to carry heavy and difficult pieces. He reached the center of the rink and assumed the starting pose. He knew his rink mates where minding their business and continuing their exercises.

He also knew Shiro was observing him.

He _always_ stared. Keith had no idea what ran through his mind, when Shiro slowed down to follow his movements. He didn’t spend _that_ much time looking at Shiro, when _he_ was the one rehearsing the programs.

The music started. The choreography was intricate and intense, to match the music, but with his stamina and his speed he could keep it up for the three minutes of the short program. The first element was the jump combination, and he landed it without problem. Jumping had never been his issue. He tried to follow Kolivan’s instructions and take his time in each step of the step sequence, but he could already hear his coach’s complaints.

It was the second half of the program and he was gaining speed for his last jumping pass, the triple Axel. His blades scratched the ice and as he crossed the rink, he accidentally made eye contact with Shiro.

Was that-

Was that _admiration_ in his eyes?

He prepared for the take off, jumped and completely missed the landing: he felt his right foot slip from under him and he crashed on the ice, almost hitting his head. Despite the pain, he immediately stood up to complete the final spin, but the frustration stemming from the fall made him lose focus and he almost fell out of it. When the music stopped, he looked at the ice and saw how much he had traveled during the last element. He punched the barrier and went to Kolivan.

“What happened with that fall?” asked Kolivan.

_“I was distracted by Shiro,”_ he thought. Obviously, he didn’t say it.

“Couldn’t use the toe pick to reduce the speed. Foot slipped,” he simply said, out of breath.

“And the spin?”

Keith clenched his teeth. “I was angry.”

Kolivan closed his eyes and sighed. “Alright. Don’t do jumps right now, okay? Try to cool down. Regain focus. If you jump again like this, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Keith nodded.

It drove him crazy, his inability to recover from a fall. He skated around the rink a couple of times, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shiro getting ready to do a rerun of his short program. He took the opportunity to pay a little more attention to him.

Shiro had come from Japan with the music for his short and free program already chosen. He had decided to use both pieces even after the change to show respect to his former coach. Ulaz and Shiro had then worked together on the choreography, preparing so far only the one for his short program. The music was the soundtrack from the movie _Cloud Atlas_.

As the first notes started playing, Shiro started moving with them.

Keith forgot about any kind of training.

Watching him in real life was completely different from watching him from the television. It was like he was not following the music, but creating it and guiding it. He highlighted all the rises and fall in the melody with a movement, not a single note was wasted. No wonder he was one of the most beloved figure skater in the circuit: he made it impossible to take his eyes off of him.

He opened the short program with a triple Axel, his most impressive jump, and he did it with minimal preparation, only turning for the forward take-off at the last moment. The difficulty of a move like that was outstanding. Keith had tried a couple of times, and failed miserably. It was testament to how talented he was as a skater and how much he pushed himself to create beautiful and original routines.

He watched Shiro throw himself into the air. The height and ice coverage of that jump made the spectators think that he was never going to land. Keith looked at him in awe. He could only dream of having an Axel like that.

The program included a quadruple toe loop, a jump that had never given him problems and he was able to put in a combination, and a quadruple Salchow. The Salchow was another matter.

He had been trying to include it in his programs for a couple of seasons, but the number of times that he had landed it was really low. His determination to try the jump no matter the outcome was admirable. He tried it now, after the triple Axel, and fell. Completing all four rotations was not his problem: he just seemed unable to control the landing. Shiro picked himself up, build up some speed again and went for a spin.

He winced when Shiro hooked the left blade with his fingers and pulled his leg up, bending his back behind to do a Biellmann spin. That move looked painful to him even when the women did it. He didn’t want to think about how much stretching and pain _Shiro_ had to endure to be able to do it.

Once he finished the program, Shiro went to Kolivan to talk about what had gone well and what the coach thought he needed to fix. Now calmer, Keith tried to focus back on his training and stopped paying attention to his rink mate.

Even though two weeks had already passed, Keith still didn’t know how to approach Shiro. He was a nice person, but he was nice with _everyone_. He couldn’t figure out if he actually liked him, or if he was spending time with him because, at nineteen, he was the oldest student in Kolivan’s group. The other options were a couple of fifteen year olds and a few preteens.

They did have lunch together almost every day, though.

He felt Shiro’s eyes on him again. He tried to ignore the feeling of being observed and skated to the opposite end of the rink, wishing for the session to end quickly.

“Keith, is everything alright?” Shiro asked, while they were eating.

They had stopped eating outside a few days before and now they sat inside the facility.

 “Yeah, why?”

“I, uh, while you were talking with Kolivan, I overheard what you were saying,” explained Shiro, looking only slightly remorseful.

Keith stabbed the salad in front of him. “And so?”

He tried to act like it was not a big deal, but Shiro knowing about his problem made him feel irrationally vulnerable. Like he had discovered a big secret – not something that was clear to anyone who watched his performances.

He would have rather had an injury, some kind of pain that prevented him from jumping properly, instead of being sabotaged by his own emotions. Pain, at least, would have been easier to solve, he thought.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that I can help you, if you want,” proposed Shiro.

Keith averted his eyes. “Good luck with that.”

 “You know, I used to have that problem too,” said Shiro.

Keith frowned and raised his head to look Shiro in the eyes.

“You did?”

Now he was curious.

“Back when I was a junior. One mistake and the whole competition would turn into a mess. I completely panicked when a fall happened.”

Keith set aside his lunch and leaned on the table.

“It took a sport psychologist, relaxation exercises and a lot of patience to overcome that.” He paused. “Do you know why it happens to you?”

Keith shifted in his seat to find a more comfortable position.

“I get angry, because… because it’s always stupid mistakes, stupid mistakes that I make on stuff that I can do, I _should_ be able to do.” He clenched his fists. “And when I do them in a competition is even more frustrating, because I have no problem doing a perfect program in practice, but I feel like I can never deliver it when it counts.”

“Hey, hey, don’t forget to breathe,” said Shiro.

Keith sighed. “Kolivan and I still haven’t worked out a way to solve this problem.”

“I could give you a few tips. Teach you some relaxation exercises,” casually suggested Shiro.

Keith’s face lit up. “You would?”

Shiro chuckled. “Of course. I warn you, though: I’m gonna make you do yoga.”

“I’m ready for that.”

“But first,” he added, “You’re gonna have to show me the city.”

Keith groaned, but agreed. It was not really a high price to pay for the help of the guy he looked up to. Because he still looked up to Shiro, even after seeing him do a spin on his butt to entertain the kids of the group.

That was another thing Keith had to come to terms with: Shiro _loved_ goofing around. He was serious and focused during training, but the moment they had a break he started playing tag with Keith on the ice, trying to rile him up. The first couple of times Keith had been too surprised to respond to the provocation, which had left space for the kids to chase after Shiro in his place. Only Shiro’s pout had convinced him to join the game.

The next day Keith drove to the training facility and picked up Shiro there. For the first time he saw him in something that was not training gear. He was wearing jeans and a plain t-shirt, with a hoodie tied to his waist. It didn’t make a great difference from his usual clothes, but it still made him feel weird.

“Everything alright?” asked Shiro as he jumped in the car.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re staring.”

Keith started the car and they left the rink behind. “It’s just weird seeing you in something that is not gym clothes.”

“I can say the same.”

He took Shiro to the city center and they had a walk there, before taking him to the Skate and Stick, Hunk’s father’s shop. When they saw one of those tour bus pass beside them, Shiro insisted to go for a ride on one of them. After seeing Keith’s face, he reminded him that he deserved to act like a tourist for at least one day.

“I came here from another country and immediately started training. I have seen nothing except the airport, my apartment and the rink,” he said as they queued for the tickets.

Keith talked about the city as they traveled around showing him the places where he usually went to have fun with Lance and Allura, until Shiro decided that they had seen enough and they hopped off the bus. Keith felt a little dizzy, thrown around the city by Shiro’s enthusiasm, but he didn’t complain and let the man lead him. After lunch they stopped in a park to enjoy the trees’ shade. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, the park was full of couples and families and Keith could finally sit back and relax. He was sure he saw someone take a picture of him and Shiro.

“And for how long have you been training with Kolivan?” asked Shiro, after sitting on the grass under a tree.

Keith laid beside him and crossed his arms behind his head, looking at the sky. “Since I was ten. He’s been my coach for so long that he’s like a second father to me now.”

Shiro smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I was not!”

Keith looked at him. “And what about you? Hamada has been your coach for a long time. Why did you decide to leave?”

“I needed a change of environment,” said Shiro. “And Kolivan is a superb technician.”

“Is that really why?” Keith asked, a little more aggressively than he had liked.

Something in the air changed and he felt the tension rise between them.

“It’s a complicated matter,” answered Shiro.

Keith understood from Shiro’s tone that he wouldn’t have gotten anything more from him about the coach change. So he asked him about his old life in Japan and Shiro answered those questions with much more enthusiasm.

Even when the conversation changed and they casually started talking about movies, Keith couldn’t shake off the feeling that Shiro was still tense because of his earlier question.

The rest of the afternoon flew by. When they grew tired of staying in the park, they paid a visit to Keith’s favorite coffee shop and Shiro tried their blueberry muffin, on Keith’s suggestion.

“Your father is a fireman? _Really_?” asked Shiro as they were walking back to Keith’s car.

“Yeah, is it weird?”

“Not weird.” Shiro scratched his head. “You know, for a while I wanted to become a fireman.”

Keith raised his eyebrows. “I took for granted that you had always wanted to become a successful skater.”

“Not always.”

Keith drove Shiro home and realized that they didn’t live that far from each other. If he wanted, he could walk to his apartment. It was strangely comforting. He told Shiro that.

“Then you’re always welcome in my house,” said Shiro with a warm smile.

 

*

 

Even Kolivan, the next day, saw that they were a little more comfortable with each other. He has worried about that, knowing that Keith was not the easiest person to be around and how hard it was for him to get close to someone. Seeing that they were already at least on friendly terms was reassuring.

Shiro approached Keith during a break to remind him that he was still serious about helping him.

“When do you want to start?” he asked.

Keith shrugged. “Even today, if you can.”

Shiro smiled. “Great! Come to my house this evening. If you want, I’ll make dinner.”

Keith accepted his offer and texted his mother to inform her that he was not having dinner with her that day. Krolia did not ask for explanations. Since there was no point in going home to leave _immediately_ after, he asked Shiro if he could come home with him right after practice, offering a ride in exchange.

“Sounds good,” said Shiro.

The next activity scheduled for the day was dance practice. Keith had never particularly liked dance class, but now he also had to make an extra effort to not stare at Shiro. _Damn it_. Watching him move was way too enjoyable.

After the evening session on the ice, their day finally ended. The days were getting longer and outside the sun painted the sky orange. With the car windows rolled down, they drove to Shiro’s apartment.

“What are we doing tonight?” asked Keith, as the climbed the stairs to the third floor.

“I’m gonna teach you some relaxation exercises,” said Shiro. “But first, dinner. Is soup alright with you?”

“Never had a problem with soup.”

Shiro’s house was a studio apartment with white walls, decorated with succulents and fake flowers, because those added color and didn’t need to be taken care of. There only medal on display was the gold medal from the World Championship three years before.

Keith observed Shiro chop the vegetables with experienced hands and pick a box of already cooked beans. He imagined him in his house, back in the Sendai prefecture, wondering how different were the meals he cooked there. Keith did not do a great deal of meals preparation. He still lived with his parents because, with all the money that went into the coaching fees, it would have been hard to live on his own. Shiro, on the other hand, had a lot of money that came in from the sponsors, ice shows and the federation.

The pot on the stove started boiling and the smell of the soup spread throughout the kitchen.

“How old were you when you started skating?” asked Keith, preparing the table.

Shiro filled two plates.

“I was four,” he said, sitting down. “My parents brought me to the rink near our home, just to let me try skating. My mother says that I never wanted to leave.”

“It was destiny,” said Keith, as he started eating.

“And you? How old were you?”

“Seven. I’m a relatively late bloomer. My parents never really cared about winter sports in general, but it was the Christmas season and there was an outdoor rink in the center of the city.” He paused to drink. “My dad brought me there and I started crying when we had to go,” he admitted.

Shiro laughed.

“I started taking lessons soon after that. And three years later I met Kolivan.”

They chatted throughout dinner and when they finished, Keith helped with the dish cleaning. After that, Shiro made Keith sit on the bed with his legs crossed. Shiro then placed himself on the floor in front of the bed.

“Today I want to teach you a really basic respiration technique. It’s a simple thing, but it helped me before a lot of competitions,” he explained.

“Okay.”

“You can close your eyes, but only if you promise not to fall asleep.”

Keith laughed. “I won’t.”

“Alright.”

Shiro started giving instructions: shoulders back. Chest out. Take a deep breath, breath out keeping the chest puffed out. Relax everything. He made Keith repeat that sequence a few times. After the second time, Keith, with his eyes closed, heard Shiro move from the floor and felt his weight dip the mattress.

“You’re a figure skater, you should be able to keep your back straight,” he jokingly scolded Keith.

He sat behind Keith, put his hands on his shoulders and pulled them back, while pushing with his thumbs between Keith’s shoulder blades.

“Breathe again.”

Keith lost track of time. He realized after a while that he was so relaxed that he was almost falling asleep, so he told Shiro it was time to stop.

“Did it work?” asked Shiro, moving in front of him.

Keith flopped on the bed. “Perfectly.”

He was not exaggerating to please Shiro, the exercise had really done its job. And it was simple and fast to do, so he could definitely use it before competitions.

He checked his phone and saw a missed call from his mother.

“I really need to go,” he said.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

From the doorstep, Shiro watched him run down the stairs. He wished he could have stayed more.


	3. Chapter 3

After that evening, they made a habit of Keith having dinner with Shiro a couple of times a week and then doing relaxation exercises together. It took a few sessions, but Keith started seeing the results. Although he was not sure if it was the effect of the exercises, or if Shiro was becoming a calming presence by himself, after getting used to his company during practice.

Shiro, in the meantime, was preparing an exhibition for a series of ice shows that he had been invited to and he was still weird about his decision to switch coaches. Keith had tried to talk about it a couple more times, and Shiro unerringly avoided answering something more than _Kolivan’s technical preparation is good_.

Lance and Allura often joined them for lunch. They had stopped drowning Shiro in questions every time they saw him and Keith was extremely grateful for that.

“Shiro, _please_ , convince him to get Instagram,” said Lance one time while they were eating together. “He’s probably the only one who doesn’t have an account.”

“That’s not true,” answered back Keith. “Axca doesn’t have one.”

“Acxa _didn’t_ have one the last time you talked to her. She does now.”

“Who’s Acxa?” asked Shiro.

“My ex girlfriend,” quickly explained Keith and went back to discussing with Lance.

Shiro peacefully watched them bicker and caught a glimpse of Allura rolling her eyes. Those kind of quarrels must have been a regular occurrence, he thought.

“Seriously, though,” said Keith a couple of hours later, while he and Shiro were at the gym. “Should I get Instagram?”

Shiro shrugged. “It’s good publicity. And besides, it lets you keep in touch with the other skaters.”

Keith hummed.

That evening he created an account. Why not, after all? Could be fun.

He lurked around the site for a while before following anyone. For one thing, he made sure Lance hadn’t lied and looked for Acxa. She found her and saw she had, in fact, created the account a couple of months before. He also found James Griffin, who used to train with him until they were fourteen, and then had switched to Iverson. The media considered them _rivals_ , which was, for Keith, a ridiculous concept. Yes, he did not really get along with the guy, but figure skating was not a one against one sport. If he had to consider all the other competitors as _rivals_ , he would have had no friends.

… Which in a way was true, he was not friends with any other figure skater, with the exception of Lance and Allura, but they competed in a different discipline. Shiro was the first competitive skater, since James, to have what could be classified as a conversation with him.

Right, Shiro.

He found his profile: it was full of promotional pictures for ice shows, a few videos of him training, some photos of his medals. Not a lot of personal stuff. _Except_ for the last picture he had posted: it was a selfie taken on their bus tour, where Shiro was smiling and he was busy reading something. He hadn’t seen him take it. The caption said _He took me sightseeing, but I had to bribe him_.

He hit follow.

A couple of minutes later, as he was looking for more people that he knew, Shiro followed him back. Another minute passed, and he received a message from him.

_“Here you are!!”_

Keith smiled at his enthusiasm. Shiro sent him a few blogs to follow and they kept talking for a while, before Keith decided that he had to go to sleep.

 

*

 

Watching Shiro fall time after time in his attempts at landing more consistently the quadruple Salchow was painful. He always got up seemingly unfazed by the hits the took on the ice, stubborn enough to try it as many times as he needed, but Keith remembered the pain of learning a quad. He remembered being thirteen and starting to jump the quadruple toe loop without the harness. Sometimes he came home in so much pain he couldn’t even sit.

Shiro’s persistence was a point in his favor, he thought every time he caught him doing more push-ups, more exercises to strengthen his core, more rope jumping, all of this with the goal of rotating faster in the air and making his jumps easier to complete.

He passed next to him and heard a frustrated sigh come from Shiro. That evening he decided to ask a question that was bothering him.

“Why the Salchow?”

They were in Shiro’s apartment, for their usual twice weekly dinner together. Shiro raised the head from the plate.

“What do you mean?”

Keith cleared his throat. Shiro was older, more experienced, and because of that Keith was not very comfortable putting himself in the position of the one giving tips. But Shiro was already doing a lot for him, knowingly – the relaxation exercises – and unknowingly – showing up close what good and deep edges looked like.

“It’s clear that you don’t really like that jump – I can’t blame you, the timing is weird and tricky – and edge jumps in general don’t seem to be your favorites. You have a lot less trouble with toe jumps - the toe loop, Lutz and flip. But I feel like, I don’t know if it was you or your old coach, you got stubborn with the Salchow because it’s the one quad we usually learn after the toe loop, instead of going for a jump that you’re more comfortable with. Which is what you should do.” He paused. “Maybe.”

Shiro put down his fork and rested his chin in one hand, remaining silent for a few stressful seconds.

“What you say makes sense,” he said.

Keith repressed the urge to sigh in relief.

“I’ll talk to Kolivan about that tomorrow.”

From that day on, Shiro stopped trying to kill himself by attempting the quadruple Salchow and started doing so by attempting the quadruple Lutz. They had to be patient before they started to see some results, but now Shiro approached practice a lot more relaxed and with more motivation.

“Thank you for your suggestion,” he told Keith a couple of days later.

Keith felt his heart burst, hearing the athlete he looked up to _thank him_.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

The tour was also getting closer. Shiro had finished preparing his exhibition and was mostly just rehearsing it those days. The evening before he had to leave for Japan, Keith went to his house to help him pack – or so he said. Actually, it was because he wanted to spend some more time with him. He liked having Shiro around.

“Will you be able to visit your parents?” asked Keith from his place on Shiro’s bed.

“They told me they want to come to one of the shows. The problem is that we are not close to their city,” answered Shiro, putting the exhibition costume in his suitcase.

“So, most probably no.”

“Not during the tour. I should have decided to stay a few days more, but to be honest, I want to come back to train as quickly as possible.”

Shiro closed the suitcase and looked at it satisfied.

“It’s still early. Do you want to go home or stay a little longer?”

“Stay,” said Keith, without even thinking.

Shiro smiled. “Maybe we can watch something,” he proposed.

“Like a shitty movie about figure skating so we can make fun of all the ridiculous things they do?”

That was not what Shiro had in mind. Instead, he proposed an _anime_ , of all things. An anime about figure skating.

“You didn’t watch _Yuri!!! On Ice_?” asked Shiro, taking out his laptop.

“No. Should I have?”

Shiro sat beside Keith on the bed. “Well, a lot of us watched it. It’s a nice story, clearly made with a lot of love for the sport. And the two main characters are lovable.”

As he looked for a streaming site, Shiro explained the plot to Keith and told him it was one of the series he watched an episode or two of before any trip to relax. He hit play on the video and let the music start.

Keith was sure he heard him hum along the opening song.

He had to admit, it was enjoyable. That animation of the two main characters skating in the first episode was superb and the struggles of the younger one – cracking under pressure, loss of confidence – were easily relatable to any athlete. Between the second and third episode, Shiro asked him if he wanted a popsicle and went to grab a couple of them when Keith accepted the offer, and then they resumed watching.

“Okay wait,” said Keith, pausing the third episode during a scene were the older character almost put his thumb in the younger one’s mouth, promising to give him confidence and bring out his sex appeal. “If _Kolivan_ were to ever do something like that, it would be _immensely creepy_.”

Shiro laughed. It was genuine and contagious, and Keith stopped to listen to it with attention: Shiro had never laughed that hard in his company until that moment.

“That’s because Kolivan is an fifty-year-old man and not a hot Russian coach that had just thrown himself into your life,” he replied.

Keith scoffed.

“Do we know _anything_ about Kolivan?” asked Shiro. “It’s been a month and I still don’t know if he even has a family.”

Keith shrugged. “He’s a very private person. I know he has a husband, his name is Antok. I probably saw him out of the rink once.”

“Uh,” said Shiro. “Is that so.”

They kept on watching. The main character won a local competition, then the story started building up to the Grand Prix Final by showing the first event that the main character had been assigned to. They had to stop at the end of the sixth episode because Keith had to go home and Shiro didn’t want to go to sleep too late.

“You can finish watching it without me, if you’re curious,” he told Keith as he walked him to the door.

“No, I want to wait for when you come back. It’s more fun that way,” said Keith, searching for the car keys in his pockets. “Just tell me what happens in the next episode.”

“They kiss.”

Keith laughed. “Yes, as if that’s gonna happen.”

He didn’t see Shiro’s smirk.

Later that evening, when he was in his bed and couldn’t sleep, he decided to rectify his statement and watch at least one more episode of that anime. He _had_ to know whether Shiro was joking or not about the kiss.

He finished the episode even more awake than before.

_“They really kissed,”_ he thought.

He texted Shiro about that, thinking that he was going to see the message in the morning, and then tried to fall asleep. He didn’t expect to receive a response only a few minutes later.

_“I don’t lie about these things ;)”_

_“shouldn’t you be asleep?”_ he typed.

_“I could ask you the same”_

_“I can’t sleep”_

They chatted for a while. The conversation lasted long enough for Keith to be tempted to call him. He shook his head, shooing the thought away.

_“are you nervous for the flight?”_ he asked.

_“I’m always nervous before travelling, but it’s gonna be nice speaking my own language for a few days”_

Right. He didn’t think too much about it because Shiro had no problem understanding and using the English language to communicate, but having to translate everything he heard must have been tiring.

_“teach me some Japanese when you come back”_ he wrote.

_“ahahah, okay!”_

It was past midnight. Keith finally said goodnight to Shiro and seriously tried to get some sleep.

 

*

 

The next morning the sun was obscenely hot and the air above the city suffocating, placed like a cloak that didn’t let the heat dissipate. Arriving at the rink was a huge relief. In one of the facility’s bathrooms Keith looked at the dark circles under his eyes and sighed. He couldn’t wait for Sunday to come.

The ice looked strangely empty without Shiro now. Not only he was the tallest skater, but his presence was magnetizing too, so he was hard to ignore when he was there. He looked at the positive side of his absence and told himself that at least there was more space on the ice for him.

He rehearsed the long program once he had finished warming up. He was starting to make less mistakes on all the elements as the movements of the choreography became more and more natural.

“I’m going to say something I never thought I would say,” started Kolivan, when he approached Keith at the end of the long program.

Keith tensed.

“That step sequence looked… good.”

He let out a relieved sigh. “Kolivan, don’t start a comment like that ever again, _please_.”

Kolivan let out a low, grumbling chuckle. It lasted a split of second and then he went back to his usual serious attitude. “Obviously we still need to work on the quality of the steps, but since the start of the low season I saw a significant improvement. Good job, Keith.”

His chest swell with pride. Any praise coming from Kolivan was something to be treasured and remembered. Keith hid a smile as he skated back to the center of the rink. Observing Shiro’s steps was paying off. He wondered if Kolivan had noticed the way he tried to move like Shiro, imitating his deep knee bend, the movements of his hips to shift from the inside edge to the outside edge of the blade.

That evening he went to Skate and Stick to sharpen his blades. As he waited for his boots to come back, Hunk emerged from the back of the shop. Hunk was a big guy, a good mix of muscular and chubby, nervous most of the time, except for when he had the occasion of telling someone _I told you so_.

“Hey man!”

As usual, Hunk greeted him with a rib-crushing hug.

“Nice to see you too, Hunk,” said Keith, out of breath.

“No Shiro today?”

“He’s doing a few ice shows in Japan. He left this morning,” explained Keith.

“And left you all alone,” he said, letting go of Keith. “Wait here, I’ve got something for you.”

He returned a couple of minutes later with something wrapped in brown paper and dropped it into Keith’s hands. It was more or less the size of a DVD case, but quite thicker.

“Homemade granola bars,” Hunk explained. “I remember you appreciated these a lot the last time I made them.”

“You remember well,” said Keith, feeling his mouth water already. “How are you and your family doing?”

Hunk leaned on the counter. “Doing well. It’s been a quiet few weeks.”

Being in Hunk’s presence was comforting. Like putting on warm mittens. He got along with everyone and he knew that offering food was the best way to make his way through a person’s heart. He even had a binder full of recipes for snacks that athletes could eat without problems. When he had showed it to Lance, the guy was so moved he had started crying.

“I see you’re on social media now,” said Hunk.

“Lance and Shiro convinced me,” said Keith, almost like he was justifying himself.

“Did you want to see what the fans are saying about you and Shiro?”

The question left Keith completely unable to give an answer. He blinked a few times, trying to figure out what Hunk was hinting at and failing.

“What are you talking about?” he finally managed to stutter out.

“Dude, when Shiro posted that picture of you and him on the bus, all the fan pages went wild. It was reposted everywhere.”

Keith stared at him, not sure whether he could believe him or not. There was something he could wrap his mind around.

“But why?”

“Because the Japanese champion and the U.S. champion are hanging around like best buds in their free time? They see a lot of potential there,” said Hunk, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I was just showing him the city.”

“But they don’t know that.”

Keith didn’t find a proper way to reply. They changed topic and, when his boots were finally ready, he was still trying to process what Hunk had told him.

What kind of nonsense was that?

Why would fans go wild over them spending time together?

That evening he resisted the temptation of searching his own name on Instagram, but with the feeling that he would have soon given in. It was stuff for another day.

Was Shiro aware of whatever was happening online? Probably.

They didn’t talk much while he was in Japan. Shiro was busy with not only the show, but also rehearsing it and spending times with the other guests, so his days were as busy as Keith’s, if not more. Lance held it against him, that since Shiro had arrived, he had spent less time with him and Allura. Wanting to bite him back, and because Allura was not around, Keith pointed out that Lance should have been happy to spend more time alone with her.

Lance blushed and didn’t reply.

Shiro came back from the shows a week later, a little worn out but ready to go back to his training.

“Keith, can I ask you something?” asked Shiro the day after his return, during their cardio session.

“Sure thing.”

Shiro walked up to him and almost shoved his head into Keith’s face to have him look at his tuft of hair. “Do you think they are getting white?”

Keith looked at Shiro’s sweaty hair, quite understandably taken aback. He pinched a lock and observed it, trying to come up with an honest answer.

“A little? Maybe?”

Shiro straightened up and went back to the treadmill, leaving Keith there with his confusion.

Later that day he explained that while he was in Japan, another skater had made a remark about how his hair had started turning grey despite him being so young.

“And you panicked?” asked Keith as they changed into clean clothes before going home.

“Yes! I’m twenty-four, I can’t already have white hair!” said Shiro.

“Could be worse,” replied Keith from inside his t-shirt. “You could be going bald.”

If he had been able to meet Shiro’s eyes, he would have seen the emptiness inside them.

“Maybe I’ll dye it,” he concluded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I made them watch Yuri on Ice.  
> Kudos, comments and corrections are always appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

That week Shiro came in the changing room rocking a tuft of dyed white hair. Keith sneered at the sight.

“You don’t like it?” asked Shiro, totally undisturbed by Keith’s dislike.

“Your natural hair looks better.”

“Lance liked it,” replied Shiro.

Keith let out a snicker. “Lance likes dyed white hair only because Allura dyes hers.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is there something that I should know?” he asked with a half smile.

“Is there anything more to say?”

Shiro’s long program was ready. The music was Rachmaninoff ‘s Piano Concerto No. 2, a piece of classical music that Shiro loved dearly. They had taken a risk and put a lot of jumps in the second half of the program to maximize the points, a move that could either pay back or be a disaster. The legs grew tired and the skater run out of breath, but the ten percent bonus on every jumping pass was alluring. Shiro was determined to make the plan work.

Nobody could say he was someone who liked to take it easy or play it safe.

It was almost the end of June and soon the Grand Prix assignments would have been announced. Keith and Shiro started placing bets on which event they would attend.

“Well,” said Keith as they were having dinner at Shiro’s place. “They will certainly want you at the NHK Trophy. For the home crowd.”

“And you? The Cup of China, maybe?”

“Could be. Or Skate America.”

They still had to watch the last three episodes of their anime and Keith at that point was not coming to Shiro’s house for the relaxation exercises anymore, but mostly to spend time with him. He was still amazed that he had managed to get this close to none other than Takashi Shirogane. Even Krolia was starting to complain about all the time they were spending together.

Sometimes he helped Shiro cook, in exchange for tips in the kitchen. He now at least knew how to make a decent stew.

“By the way,” said Keith before they started watching the anime. “I was serious when I said that I want you to teach some Japanese.”

“I’d be happy to do that, but why?” asked Shiro.

“Well, when you told me that you were happy to speak your language for a few days, I thought how tiring it must be to always speak in English. So, yeah,” he eloquently said, scratching his head. “I thought maybe you’d be happy talking in Japanese with someone here too.”

Shiro looked surprised, then smiled and ruffled Keith’s hair.

“I will teach you something, then.”

The Grand Prix assignments came out two days later. Keith’s first event was, as he had anticipated, Skate America. Shiro’s was Skate Canada. Much to their surprise and pleasure, they saw that they had _both_ been assigned to the NHK Trophy.

“It’s the first time we compete together in a Grand Prix event!” excitedly said Shiro.

“I’ll make you eat the dust, prepare yourself.”

A week later, at the end of a particularly tiring day, Keith was waiting Shiro in the parking lot to go home together, but it was getting late and his friend was nowhere in sight. He checked the time on his phone and sighed.

 _“Where is he?”_ he wondered. Shiro usually didn’t waste time inside the rink. He went back in looking for him.

The empty, dark halls of the facility felt surreal. He was never the last one in the building. He looked into the changing room, then the showers, but Shiro was not there. He almost walked into the rink, before he heard Kolivan’s voice.

“Are you still sure this season is going to be your last?”

 _What?_ Instead of stepping inside, Keith stayed right behind the doorway, from where Shiro and Kolivan couldn’t see him.

“To be honest, not anymore.” That was Shiro’s voice. “But that also depends on the injuries. It’s not up to my will, whether my body can or can’t hold up.”

Keith didn’t want to eavesdrop anymore. Besides, he had heard enough. He walked back outside, his head light, trying to wrap his mind about what Shiro and Kolivan were talking about. He took a few deep breath of the humid outside air and walked back to his car. Shiro wouldn’t-

He couldn’t retire, _not now_.

He was only starting to reach the point where he was able to compete against him. Why would he retire? _Why wouldn’t Shiro tell him?_ They were friends, weren’t they? They had dinner together, they spent all day at the rink together, they encouraged each other during training. Didn’t Shiro trust him enough to talk about something as big as retirement?

_Why hadn’t he told him?_

He was shocked, worried, and most of all, he was angry. He felt betrayed.

He saw Shiro walk out of the facility, relaxed and unaware, ready to go home and have dinner with him and not talk to him about his plans.

“Did you have _any_ intention of telling me?” he asked, aggressively, once Shiro was close enough to hear him.

“What are you talking about?”

Keith covered the distance between them with a few furious steps. “I heard you and Kolivan. Retiring? What the hell are you thinking? What more don’t I know.”

In a fraction of second Shiro’s mood changed completely. For the first time since they had met, he looked at Keith harshly, almost angry. Keith had never seen him look at _anyone_ like that. The surprise was enough to make him back off a little, feeling like he had overstepped a line.

Shiro probably sensed Keith’s resolution faltering and relaxed a little in response.

“It’s not a conversation that I want to have here,” he said in a stern but not hostile voice. “Let’s go home.”

Keith drove in silence, his brain working furiously to figure out what Shiro was going to tell him, and Shiro didn’t even try to make conversation. Neither of them was used to that uncomfortable silence between them anymore.

At home, Shiro made something quick to eat. He usually liked to take his time when cooking, but that evening his movements were sharp and quick, making sure he was done preparing in the shortest time possible.

They both did their best a avoiding the other’s eyes as they ate.

A heavy sigh after they had taken care of the dishes signaled that Shiro was ready to talk.

“Where do you want me to start?” he asked, sitting on his bed.

Keith, who was not even sure if he was angry anymore, leaned against the table with his arms crossed. What had shocked him so much? The thought of Shiro leaving him behind? Not being able to compete against him as his equal? Looking at Shiro giving up on his career?

“When have you first thought about retirement?”

Shiro put the elbows on his knees. “After the Olympics, a year and a half ago,” he said.

“You were the heavy favorite for gold, but you missed out on a medal for three points.”

Shiro squeezed his hands. “Dropping from second to fourth after the long program,” he remembered. “I know how to lose, you have to get used to it as an athlete, but it was still the hardest blow I’d ever received in my entire life. I didn’t even make up for the disappointment at Worlds.” He paused to move the hair away from his eyes. “Then before the start of last season I broke my leg and I thought _that’s it_. _I’m done._ I had to stay off the ice for four months. Skating again after that injury was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

He fell silent for a few seconds.

“You grow _tired_ , Keith. Pain wears you out. I didn’t know if I could do it anymore, if I was permanently compromising my health for nothing,” he admitted.

Shiro’s words were like a punch in the guts. Keith had never thought about how lucky he was for never hurting himself so badly.

Then the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. How worried Shiro was. Probably for the first time since they had met, instead of Takashi Shirogane, the world champion, the athlete, Keith saw Shiro, a twenty four years old who could already see the end of his career approaching. Figure skating took its toll on the athletes bodies, injuries were common occurrence, and the ones that were still competing at thirty were more unique than rare. By the standards of the sport, Shiro was already past his prime, his chance to achieve anything more grew thinner every day.

Shiro wanted to believe the contrary, but every sprained ankle and every ache was a ringing bell, telling him that it was already too late. His time was up.

Keith didn’t know what to say.

“And what made you change your mind?” he asked, his voice a kind whisper.

Shiro lifted his head to meet Keith’s eyes.

“I saw you.”

Keith almost lost his balance. _Him?_ Had he heard right?

“What?” he stammered out.

“I saw _you_ ,” repeated Shiro. “At the U.S. nationals.”

It was simply absurd. His performance at U.S. Nationals hadn’t even been one of his best ones and even his best ones were not much better. Not to mention, his showing at Worlds a couple of months later had been a disaster.

“But what did you see?” he asked, unable to believe what Shiro was saying.

“A fire that I felt like I had lost. You have passion, Keith, the people know it when they watch you, they can see that you put your soul in all of your programs. I thought that being close to you would have reminded me how I used to feel when I skated,” admitted Shiro. “Those strong emotions that can be your greatest enemies during a competition, they are also your stronger asset, they connect you to the audience.”

Keith’s mouth fell open. Jumping machine, broomstick, disappointment, those were the ways he knew he had been described. No one had ever been that generous and kind when talking about him. Shiro’s words almost moved him.

He cleared his throat, pushing his emotions back into his chest.

“So this is why you changed coach?” he asked, his voice raspy. “For _me_?”

“Yes.”

Keith raised his eyebrow and opened his mouth a couple of times, but he couldn’t find anything sensible to say.

“Also, I was not lying when I said that I wanted to work with Kolivan. His technical preparation is fantastic. I thought that I could learn more quads with his help. I need them if I want to stay competitive.”

“Of course.”

Not really knowing what he was doing, Keith sat beside Shiro, close enough that their knees were touching.

“I’m… I’m sorry for snapping like that before,” he said. “I should have waited for you to tell me.”

“Don’t worry about that,” reassured him Shiro, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Keith allowed himself to smile weakly.

“Do you still want to retire?” he asked.

Shiro inhaled deeply. “The possibility is still there. But I have to say, training with you is turning out to be a better idea than expected.”

This time Keith smiled wide. “I can’t believe I was part of the reason you came here.”

“Do you really not know what an amazing skater you are?”

Keith shrugged. “I know I can jump. Other than that, there’s not a lot. I’m still very rough.”

“Are you joking? Keith, your speed is out of this world, I have never seen someone cover so much ice in so little time as you do. And your ability to project your emotions on the audience is something some skaters have to work on for years. It’s because of it that I love watching you skate.”

For the third time in the evening, Keith found himself at a loss for words.

“I never thought I had something to offer to someone like you,” he finally admitted.

Shiro squeezed the hand on his shoulder. “You _are_ a good athlete. Give yourself a little more credit.” He patted Keith’s back.

Keith nodded. “Just promise me something,” he said.

“What do you want me to promise?”

“That we will compete together in the next Olympics.”

Shiro smiled and grabbed Keith’s extended hand.

“Deal.”

*

 

The end of June rolled away gently and two months were left before the start of the season.

“Why don’t you invite him over for a change?” proposed Krolia one evening.

Keith raised his head from the plate. “Yeah, why not?”

The thought had crossed his mind a few times, but he had never acted on it. He was a bit averse to the idea of having someone who was not part of the family in his house, or even in his room. Neither Lance nor Allura had ever set foot in his home. It felt like an invasion. But he could make an exception for Shiro, who had invited him to his house multiple times.

The next day he asked Shiro if he liked the idea.

“Why not?” he replied. “When?”

“I was thinking Saturday evening.”

“Sounds good! Should I bring a bottle of wine or something?” asked Shiro.

“What? No, don’t worry. I ate at your place so many times, this is the least I can do to repay you. Don’t worry about bringing anything,” quickly reassured him Keith.

The evening of the dinner at Keith’s house Shiro went home to change into something that wasn’t gym shorts and Keith picked him up a few minutes before seven. Shiro was only slightly worried by the idea of meeting Keith’s parents. Between him and Keith, the latter was probably more tense.

“It’s weird, I almost feel like I’m introducing my _boyfriend_ to my parents,” joked Keith to get rid of some of his tension.

Shiro laughed nervously.

They walked inside the house, where they were greeted by the smell of beef cooking and Keith’s father, Heath. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and, observed Shiro, did not resemble his son at all. When he saw Krolia, he came to the conclusion that Keith definitely took after his mother. Except for the height.

“How is it possible that both your parents are so tall and you are not?” he asked when they were left alone for a few moments.

Keith simply glared at him.

Shiro was also introduced to the family’s pet, a huge black dog named Kosmo, who allowed Shiro to pet him after thoroughly smelling him and deciding that he was a good person.

“He been with us for five years now,” explained Keith as he played with the dog. “He was a stray puppy when we found him.”

The dinner went exceptionally well. Krolia was not a great conversationalist, but Heath was enough for the both of them. From the kind of question he asked, it was clear to Shiro that Keith must have talked _a lot_ about him before. The thought made him smile.

Krolia stopped Shiro when, at the end of dinner, he tried to clear the table and instead proposed that he and Keith did something else instead.

Keith, who had no clue what he could do with Shiro, decided to show him his bedroom and they were followed by Kosmo.

“So this is your cave,” said Shiro.

There was a predominance of red in the room: the wardrobe was, so were the sheets covering the mattress and the shelves where schoolbooks and novels were stacked. Shiro thought that the color suited Keith. Showed the fire burning inside him.

Before picking up Shiro, Keith had made the effort to tidy up his room, knowing they would have probably ended up spending some time there.

“Yeah.” Keith stood awkwardly in the center of the room. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to entertain guests.”

Shiro chuckled. “Well, I guess at this point I’m something more than just a guest to entertain.”

He glanced at Keith’s desk, where were resting a laptop, a pencil case and a few notebooks. Shiro saw there what was probably something that had escaped Keith’s tiding.

“Keith, you draw?” he asked.

Keith made a confused noise and Shiro picked up the paper that was flagrantly sticking out from under the pile of notebooks.

“Is this me?” he asked with a huge grin on his face.

Keith felt his blood run away from his face as he realized that, _yes_ , Shiro had indeed found a drawing he had made of one of the pictures posted on his Instagram. It was a still of Shiro’s landing pose after a jump, a picture that he thought it had a pretty pleasing composition. Out of all the stuff that he could have forgotten to put away, obviously he had to miss _that_ one.

He made a high-pitched strangled noise and tried, out of panic, to snatch the piece of paper out of Shiro’s hands, but the guy had the height in his advantage. He simply raised the arm over his head to prevent Keith from reaching it. In response Keith almost tried to climb him in order to get the drawing back, forcing Shiro to walk backwards and they ended up falling on the bed, Keith on top of Shiro.

“I’ll give it back, I’ll give it back!” exclaimed Shiro, trying to contain his laughter, when Keith almost planted a knee on his crotch.

Keith grabbed the paper and finally calmed down. He sat back on the bed, crawling off Shiro.

“I’m so sorry,” he stuttered, his cheeks now a bright red. “I shouldn’t have- It’s not-“

“Keith, _calm down_ ,” said his friend, sitting up. “There’s nothing you have to apologize for. I’m sorry if I made you so upset.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s do this again: may I see the incredible drawing you made of me?” he asked, extending a hand.

Keith looked at Shiro’s palm and then at the piece of paper he was almost ruining by holding it too tight. He finally passed it to his friend, without meeting his eyes.

Shiro thanked him and studied the drawing once again, more calmly. He remembered the picture it came from, it was a relatively old picture of him landing a jump in an exhibition costume. He could see why Keith had chosen that one.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

“It’s just a hobby.”

“Well, you’re awfully good at it.”

He gave the drawing back. “Can I see something more?”

Keith hesitated a moment, then walked to his desk to pick up one of the sketchbooks and came back to the bed, sitting beside Shiro.

There were _a lot_ of drawings of Kosmo, who was clearly Keith’s favorite model, some still lives, anatomy studies and doodles everywhere. It looked like a proper art student’s sketchbook.

They ended up doing little else except going through Keith’s stuff and Keith realized he actually didn’t mind having Shiro in his room all that much. His presence felt natural. Expected. Time flew by, until Shiro decided that it was time for him to go home. He thanked Krolia and Heath for inviting him for dinner, petted Kosmo, who gracefully accepted Shiro’s strokes and then he was brought home by Keith.

“See you on Monday,” he said, before stepping out of the car.

“See you.”

When Keith came back, he found his mother waiting with a pressing question.

“What the hell was happening in your room earlier?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assure you all that you won't find weirdly matched weddings at the end of this fic

Keith hated travelling, hated how it left him dazed and irritable. There were too many people shoving him around, too many noises from crying babies and loudly proclaimed announcements, too much life at ungodly hours of the morning at the airport. But since the competitions took place all over the world, travelling was an inevitable chore.

The season was starting for both him and Shiro at the U.S. International Skating Classic, in the middle of September. There were not too many big name athlete there, but even if they didn’t medal, the main goal of participating was getting back the feeling of the competition after the months of the off-season. It was particularly important for Shiro, who had been out of the circuit for an entire season and was rightfully stressing over his first competition in more than a year. During the time spent together, Keith had learned that Shiro’s stress usually manifested itself quietly, through furrowed eyebrows and a tense jaw.  
Their costumes were also ready. Keith had never had any particular preference regarding his costumes, the only thing he wanted was that they’d came with a pair of gloves. Both of Shiro’s costumes were flashier that his, for the reason that Shiro was better at putting on a show than Keith and therefore a loud costume wouldn’t have taken the attention away from his performance.

They landed in Salt Lake City with a minor delay, which didn’t cause any major problem, except worsen Keith’s mood.

“Is he always like this after a flight?” whispered Shiro to Kolivan, while Keith stormed towards the baggage reclaim, looking like he was just waiting for the excuse to murder someone.

Kolivan turned to face him with an indecipherable expression. “Always.”

Since Shiro was from the Japanese federation, at the hotel where the athletes stayed he and Keith were placed in different rooms. Keith was unexpectedly disappointed by that. He had never spent the night at Shiro’s place, for reasons of space, obviously, so it was not like he was being robbed of something that they used to do. Still, he glared at the different sets of keys that were given to them.

His roommate was another American skater, a guy named Matthew Holt who competed in pairs. He talked a lot. Keith hoped that he wouldn’t have been as talkative after a day of training.

The men were scheduled to train at the rink, where the competition would have taken place, the next morning. He and Shiro were in the same group, that was going to practice at eight, so for the rest of the day they had nothing to do, no obligations.

“We should take a look around! See the city, visit a museum, maybe,” proposed Shiro.

“You really like sightseeing, don’t you?”

Shiro just smiled. "I just like to make the most of the time before a competition."

Half an hour later, he and Keith were strolling around the city center. Keith listened to his friend list all the city’s main sights, amazed by Shiro’s energy after the trip. He clearly wanted to make the most of every moment he spent travelling and Keith couldn’t not admire him for his enthusiasm. So he followed, and paid attention to what Shiro was saying, even if he was tired.

Shiro was not, on the other hand, totally inconsiderate of his friend’s state. He saw Keith’s vacant expression and proposed a break in one of the shopping malls to have coffee. Keith gratefully accepted.

The time in the coffee shop was spent in silence, with Keith slumped against the chair back and Shiro scrolling through his phone. Keith liked that about them, the naturalness of the silence, the lack of awkwardness in it. Lance was a dear friend, but he had never grasped the concept of simply enjoying each other’s presence, something that Shiro understood and appreciated.

After their coffee break, they went for a walk in the shopping center, neither of them with the intention of buying something. The only shop that caught Keith’s attention was a fine art store. He could not resist gluing his nose to the shop window and admire the rows of crayons and pastels, the paint brushes and watercolors.

Shiro tried to understand if there was an item in particular that he was looking at.

“Something interesting?” he asked.

“I’ve been thinking about starting painting for a while,” explained Keith.

“We can go inside and take a look if you want,” proposed Shiro.

Keith shook his head and pulled his nose away from the glass. “Nah, I can look for another store back home. Let’s go.”

After a while Shiro insisted to go inside a bookshop, looking for something new to read. He liked the smell of books, he told Keith, and how bookshops seemed to be a lot quieter than most shops. Keith nodded: he had never paid a lot of attention to the atmosphere in the shops – he never spent too much time in them, to be honest – but he made an effort to feel if what Shiro was saying was true, but he ended up losing his friend as he tried to measure how noisy the room was.

He paced the shop, cursing under his breath, looking for Shiro, and he found him in the Science section. He couldn’t figure out what book he was reading, but his eyes were glimmering. Keith stopped and observed him. Almost all of the time they spent together was either at the rink or in Shiro’s apartment: he didn’t have a lot of occasions to see him in different settings, how he behaved around strangers, his tics and habits.

He leaded against the bookshelf and stared, as Shiro put down the book and crouched to pick up a different one from the lowest shelf, his face still lit up and his eyes still shining. There was something strangely intimate about watching a person without them knowing.

Keith stopped looking only because he felt it was becoming creepy.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, getting closer.

Shiro’s eyes shoot up from the book, surprised and a little embarrassed, like he had been caught doing something that he shouldn’t have.

“Astronomy books,” he answered, as Keith crouched down beside him.

“So I’m not the only one keeping my passions a secret.”

Shiro smiled. “When I was little, we lived in a town that was still relatively far from big cities and in the evening the sky was always covered in stars. I still haven’t found a sky like that again.” He put away the book. “But my love for stars remained.”

They both stood up and Keith nodded towards the volumes lined in front of them.

“Are you gonna buy one?” he asked.

“No, there was nothing particularly interesting.”

*

Practice the next day went well. Shiro was stubbornly already trying to include his quadruple Lutz in the jump layout, since trying and falling on a harder element was still more rewarding, in terms of technical points, than doing an easier element perfectly. Apart from a fall on the Lutz, the rest of his rerun of the short program was spotless.

Keith had a couple of problematic landings, but he managed to complete a program that was more or less decent. With all the other skaters around, it still felt like training, but the next day the atmosphere was going to be different: for the first time, Shiro was going to be another competitor, not his training mate. He wondered if Shiro was thinking the same, if he was feeling weird about it, or if he was used to being friends with other competitors.

Well…

Now that he thought about that, Shiro didn’t seem to be close to other skates. He never talked about his old rink mates, or people he had met in previous competitions or ice shows. Maybe he had been just as lonely as Keith was, probably even more. Keith at least had Lance and Allura.

He watched Shiro glide across the ice performing a perfect layback Ina Bauer, bent over painfully backwards. There was no music playing, but Keith was sure Shiro could hear it in his head. On the ice he always seemed to move to a tune that only he could hear.

The next day, when he woke up, the atmosphere was electric. The Men’s short program was in the afternoon, so he tried to get some more sleep, but his pounding heart demanded that he got up. His roommate had already left – Pairs started the competition at nine.

In the breakfast room he found Shiro and sat with him.

“Nervous?” asked Shiro.

“A little. How did you sleep?”

“Well, but my roommate snores.”

Keith smiled. After breakfast, there was nothing that he had to do, so he killed time in his room, counting down the hours till the competition, while Shiro went for a walk. With every minute, Keith felt himself growing restless. He started pacing the room, skipping, in an attempt to blow off some steam. Waiting for the competition to start was the worst part.

He told himself that being this nervous was useless, it was a small competition, just to start the season. There were not even that many athletes. He was on the verge of picking up his stuff and heading to the rink already, when he remembered everything Shiro had taught him about relaxation and the power of breathing.

Well, trying couldn’t harm him, right?

He sat on the bed, like that first evening at Shiro’s apartment, and closed his eyes. He straightened his back as much as he could and just breathed.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Relax every muscle.

He repeated that sequence a few times, until he started to feel some results. He knew that those exercises couldn’t work miracles, obviously. But when he got off the bed, his shoulders were a little looser and some of the tension in his neck had disappeared. He took one last deep breath.

He felt better. Just a little, maybe. But it was something.

When it was finally time to go, he, Shiro and Kolivan met in front of the bus stop.

Keith always preferred to change into his costume right after arriving at the rink. It was one less thing to think about. Since it was a minor competition, there were only two groups of six skaters and one of four that would have taken the ice that afternoon. The skaters of the first group were already in their boots, waiting for their six minute warm up on the ice to start. After changing – his outfit was a simple, black pants, white shirt with a black waistcoat decorated with sequins and fingerless gloves –, he dropped his bag next to where Kolivan was sitting, put on his headphones and walked away.

Shiro, on the other hand, was waiting to put on his costume. Keith glanced at his face, curious to see how different the Shiro pre-competition was from his rink mate. He recognized the expression he saw: it was the one they always showed on television, cold and determined. His eyes could have cut glass. Keith almost had to repress a shiver.

As time went on, Keith felt the need to repeat the breathing exercise he had done earlier in his room.  
Shiro changed into his short program costume when the first four skaters were done. He would have liked it to be completely white, but white pants made his legs and feet blend with the ice, thus making it harder to appreciate the strongest point of his skating, which was his footwork. He had settled for a white top with golden embroidery and black pants decorated with the same golden pattern on the sides.  
When the second group of skaters was done, they had to wait for the ice to be resurfaced, then it was finally their turn.

As they lined up right outside of the rink, Keith felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He turned and faced Shiro, who had dropped his cold expression and was looking at him with his usual warm eyes.

“Remember: patience yields focus. Don’t rush. Take your time,” he said.

Keith nodded. “Good luck.”

“Good luck.”

Their warm up started. Keith quickly went around the rink a couple of times, to feel the ice. There was music in the background, but he didn’t pay attention to it. He needed to focus.

“Patience yields focus, patience yields focus.”

When the warm up ended, Keith was the only one to remain on the ice. He went up to Kolivan, waiting for his name to be announced. His heart was pounding. Kolivan looked into his eyes, trustful.  
“You can do this. Keep calm and show what you’re capable of,” he said.

Keith nodded.

“He represents the United States of America,” the speakers loudly announced. Keith pushed the barrier and made his way to the center of the rink. “Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Keith Kogane.”  
The people on the bleachers politely cheered.

He assumed the starting pose.

There was an unnerving moment of silence, then the music started.

He should have made eye contact with the audience, he knew that, but he was too focused on the choreography and remembering all the elements of transition. He completed the first jumping pass, the jump combination, without any major mistake. The landing of the second jump was a bit tight, he had to rely on all of his core strength to keep his balance, but he managed to make it look somehow nice and hide his struggle. He remembered Kolivan’s teachings and kept his free leg high for a few seconds, to show his newly regained control.

When the step sequence came up, he heard Shiro’s voice in his ears.

“Take your time.”

The music didn’t really allow that, but he gave it his best shot and took it one step at a time. No rush. He still had time, with only a couple of elements more to do. Now only the last jump and spin were left. He landed a clean triple Axel and finished with the spin, perfectly in synch with the music.  
The crowd applauded, showing its appreciation for the well delivered program. Keith held his finishing pose, closed his eyes, fought to catch his breath.

“For the United States of America, Keith Kogane!” the speakers shouted once more.

He looked at the side of the rink and he saw Kolivan already waiting for him. He bowed to the audience, his mind strangely empty: usually it was running with replays of the performance, trying to anticipate what Kolivan would have told him.

He couldn’t think of anything right now. The rush of adrenaline and the release of tension made him feel dizzy.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro take the ice.

He barely registered Kolivan’s nod of approval as he walked out of the rink. He was given his blade covers and his track jacket.

“Go hear the results, while I take care of Shirogane,” said Kolivan. “Well done.”

Keith nodded and went to sit in alone in the Kiss and Cry. He took a few sips of water as the judges took their sweet time to put out the score.

“The scores, please,” said the speakers. There was a moment of silence.

“Keith Kogane has earned in the short program ninety-two points and nine. He is currently in first place.”

Keith discreetly celebrated the score. He had a ten point lead over the skater who was currently in second place. He looked for Shiro and Kolivan: he saw the former with his forehead leaned against the barrier. He had watched enough competition to know that this was part of Shiro’s pre-exhibition ritual.

“Representing Japan, please welcome Takashi Shirogane!”

The crowd cheered for him and Keith had no doubts that most of the people there had come to watch him.  
He raised his hands to his mouth and, as loud as he could, he shouted: “Shiro, good luck!”  
Somehow his friend heard him over the noise and shot him a quick smile.  
There was one word that always popped up in Keith’s mind when he watched Shiro’s short program: solemn. He watched, enraptured, as Shiro worked his magic on the crowd, demanding their complete attention. There were few skaters that were as charismatic as he was.

He was bold, he looked at the judges in the eyes, he smiled at the spectators in the first rows. Watching him compete was even better than watching him in practice.

When the program finished, Keith found himself clapping with the crowd.

At the end of the men’s short program, Shiro, with ninety-seven points and seventeen, was leading with Keith right behind him. The results could have been foreseeable – although, as Shiro knew, nothing was really predictable in that sport and there was always a disaster waiting to happen.

As they were leaving the rink to go back the hotel, Keith was surprised to find a small gathering of fans in front of the gates of the building. Shiro’s fans, he imagined.

From the reactions that Shiro’s appearance caused, Keith got the confirmation that they were in fact there for him, but a couple of them threw him off by asking him to take a picture with them. When he accepted, the girls thanked him multiple times.

“Am I this scary?” he asked himself.

“Your dog is beautiful,” said one of them, shaking him out of his thoughts.

Keith, tired and yearning for his bed, frowned, trying to guess where she could have seen it, then remembered that he had posted a picture of Kosmo on his Instagram a few weeks before.

“Oh, thank you. His name is Kosmo,” he added, thinking the girl might have appreciated the information.

She indeed gasped and smiled, delighted by the news. The other one quickly glanced between him and Shiro, who was busy with other fans.

“You two are really cute.” She had a strange expression on her face as she said that.

“Uh, thanks?” replied Keith.

He kept thinking about the girl’s words as the bus took them to the hotel. It sounded like a normal remark on their appearances – and cute was not even a particularly daring adjective – but the gleam in her eyes told Keith that there was a hidden message that he was not grasping.

“Penny for your thoughts,” said Shiro, seeing the frown on Keith’s forehead. They had just walked into the lobby of the hotel.

Keith sighed. “It’s nothing important, really. Just, one of the two girls earlier made a comment about how cute we are and-“

He was interrupted by a noise that was a mix between a laughter and a cough coming from Shiro. Keith raised an eyebrow.

“Are you alright?” he asked, mildly concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” lied Shiro.

They went their room, looking forward to their well earned rest. Keith’s roommate was not there, probably taking the opportunity of a few hours of freedom to see the city, just like he and Shiro had done a couple of days before. Keith remembered to set an alarm to avoid waking up too late and went to bed. He always fell asleep in the span of a few second, after a competition.

He woke up an hour later and went down to the lobby, bringing a book with him and sitting in one of the small armchairs, not wanting to hole up in his room for the rest of the day. Immersed in the novel, he didn’t notice his coach and his rink mate approaching him.

“Keith.” Kolivan’s voice demanded his attention. He turned to face him, spotting behind him Shiro, who had a satisfied and borderline gloating expression painted on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Take a look at the protocol,” said Kolivan, passing him a few printed sheets of paper. Keith frowned and tried to read Kolivan’s face, but it was totally blank.

He looked at the list of elements, trying to figure out what he was supposed to notice, and why did Shiro look so damn smug?

It finally clicked.

“I received positive marks on all the elements?” he asked, shooting up from his seat. It was a prank, surely. The last time he had gotten positive grade of execution on all the elements was back when he had become Junior World Champion.

And it had happened again: no deductions, no points taken away from the base value of the jumps.  
“And,” said Kolivan, pointing at the sheet. “A level four on the step sequence.”

Level four. The highest level he could achieve, the one he always failed to get because of his botched steps.

He fell back into the small armchair, still incredulous.

“Wow,” he mumbled.

Shiro sat on the armrest and nudged Keith’s shoulder. “After the competition we have to celebrate.”

Keith nodded, barely registering Shiro’s words.


	6. Chapter 6

The long program took place the next day. Shiro stayed at the top with ease, Keith managed to cling to his second place with some struggles, after a fall and a couple of failed jumps. He still had a long way to go before he was able to keep his cool during both the short and long program.

The medals were assigned right after the competition. As they were waiting out of the rink for their names to be announced, Keith looked at Shiro’s back, examined the shades of blue and turquoise, and tried to shake off the surreal feeling that being together at a medal ceremony gave him.

He had spent so much time watching Shiro get his medals through a screen, that now his brain couldn’t grasp the idea of being physically there with him.

When Shiro received his gold medal, Keith was sure he saw his eyes glimmer with tears. He tried to imagine what was going on in his head. What that medal meant to him, as his first win after the Olympics, a year and a half before. In Keith’s mind, that disc of metal hanging from Shiro’s neck was not only a reward for the competition, but also for all the struggles Shiro had endured to recover from his injury. He saw how hard Shiro worked every single day. He deserved the gold only for that.

He hoped Shiro was even only half as proud of himself as Keith was of him.

The flight home went smoothly, apart from Keith being obviously cranky about being cramped in a small place with way too many strangers.

“Where do you want to celebrate?” asked Shiro, halfway through the flight.

Keith frowned.

“I meant it when I said that we had to celebrate your short program,” he explained. “So what should we do?”

“Oh,” said Keith. He tilted his head and paid attention to his body to understand what he was craving. “How about we go see a movie and have pizza after that?” he proposed.

“Sounds good!”

That Saturday Shiro chose the movie and after it they went to Keith’s favorite pizza place and shared one at home.

“I’m starting to feel guilty about always being at your house,” admitted Keith, half-jokingly, as they were doing the dishes. “Seems like I’m taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Don’t even think that,” said Shiro. “You have no idea of how much company you are.”

Keith put down the dishtowel, weighting those words.

“Do you feel lonely here, Shiro?” he asked.

“Not more than I did back in Japan.”

Shiro put away the clean plates and glasses and noticed Keith staring at him with uncertain eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just-” Keith leaned against the counter, asking himself if it was acceptable to approach the subject. “You never talk about your old coach, or your rink mates, unless I ask you. And I can’t recall any person that you mentioned more than a couple of times.”

Shiro frowned slightly.

“I was just wondering how close you were to them,” Keith finally said.

Shiro crossed his arms and cleared his throat. “Short answer: not very close. Long answer: I have always been very… work oriented, especially since I became a senior. I never took the time to nurture the relationships between me and my peers. We were all on friendly terms, and they were definitely sad to see me move, but I wouldn’t count them as friends.”

Keith nodded. “I understand.”

So he was right. Shiro _was_ lonely. Or he had been, at least. The reason why he never talked about his old life was not because he didn’t want to remember it. He simply had no one to remember.

“How do you feel now?”

Shiro looked at that kid who still couldn’t realize how important he was and had been for him. He seemed so uncertain asking the question, as if he was not sure where the boundaries between them laid anymore, and that was probably in part Shiro’s fault, who had been so secretive about the reasons behind his coaching change at first.

He smiled at Keith.

“Now you make this place feel like home,” he said.

Keith pursed his lips and tried to keep a neutral expression, moved Shiro’s admission.

“Keith, are you crying?”

“No!” protested Keith, but failed to hide his watery eyes. He had come to think of Shiro as his best friend and now he knew that the feeling was mutual. He was beyond happy at the discovery.

He didn’t want to dismiss Lance and Allura, they were two very important people in his life and they had ensured that he wouldn’t become a misanthrope. But Shiro… Shiro’s presence fit him like a glove, he smoothed out his edges, he was _right_.

Every time he saw Shiro, it gave him the feeling of finding the puzzle piece he was looking for.

“I’m sorry, that was _terribly_ cheesy,” said Shiro.

“Don’t apologize!”

 

*

 

Kolivan was overall satisfied about the results of their first competition – and rightfully, since one of his students had won it and the other one had taken the silver. He had stressed about both of them for different reasons: Keith was always unpredictable, often at the mercy of his emotions, and the number one cause of his grey hair. Shiro, instead, was a new student and, despite his showings at the Olympics and Worlds a year and a half before, an athlete who was still considered one of the best on the circuit. His results showed that he was able to perform well under the new coaching team.

He was not going to admit that, but he was also happy to see how well Shiro and Keith got along. He watched them follow each other’s movements and steps during practice, he saw how much attention Keith paid to Shiro.

He would always be grateful to Shiro, for coming to The Blade of Marmora skating club. Keith was becoming a different person, thanks to him.

After taking a day off to recharge from the competition, they fell back into their daily routine. In a little more than a month, Keith was going to participate at Skate America. They had time to perfect Keith’s programs, so they would become more consistent. He needed more confidence, he needed to reach the point where the choreography came as natural as walking to really let himself perform to the music.

The days passed faster than expected, and in no time Keith and Kolivan had to leave for Colorado Springs, where Skate America was taking place.

It was Keith’s second showing at the competition. His performance the year before had been… mediocre. He wanted it to be different this time. It was going to be different, he told himself. He did not only have Kolivan’s guidance, now there was Shiro with-

Right, Shiro was not there. It was unpleasant, the feeling of his missing presence. They spent so much time together, his absence was unnatural.

_“That’s stupid,”_ Keith told himself. He had managed to get by himself for eighteen years – almost nineteen, now that he thought about it –, Shiro not being there with him that day was not tragic.

Not tragic at all.

Still, the morning of the competition he was unusually jittery. He was having breakfast alone, when the guy he had shared the room with at U.S. International Skating Classic, Matthew Holt, spotted him and came to his table.

“Nice seeing you again,” he said, trying to make small talk.

“Same,” lied Keith, who simply wanted to be left alone.

They were instead joined by Matt’s sister and skating partner, Katie. He recognized the effort they were making at getting to know another member of the American team, but the last thing Keith needed in that moment was another distraction. He zoned out to try and cut out their chattering, but failed.

He took his leave with a dry _see you around_ and went to his room to fetch his stuff – boots, costume, everything he needed.

He had to be at the rink by half past nine and he hoped that being there could calm him down a little.

It didn’t.

He was off that day, he realized during the warm up. Kolivan was watching him, concerned. He knew his student well enough to know when he was having a bad day just by reading his face. He saw Keith try a couple of jumps and pop them. He drew Keith’s attention and gestured to go to him, hoping to take his mind off whatever was bothering him. He made a couple of remarks about the jumps Keith had just missed and send him off again.

The six minutes warm up always ended quickly. He was the third to skate in the group, so he didn’t even bother to go back to the warm up area and stayed at the side of the rink, skipping to keep his muscles warm. The first skater of the group was a guy called Ryan Kinkade, who represented Jamaica.

He closed his eyes and plugged his ears. Everything was too bright, the noises too loud, the fabric of the costume too rough, his boots too tight. He took a few deep breaths, in an attempt to clear his head.

When he was finally on the ice, he felt out of place. He knew that feeling, it had kept him company during a lot of disappointing competitions. He looked at Kolivan in the eyes, listened to his encouraging words, but didn’t really hear them.

He knew the moment his music started, it would have been a disaster.

He was not able to complete the first combination because of an unstable landing on the first jump. After that, he completely messed up the take off of the second jump and fell badly. He felt all that anger and frustration that he had managed to keep under control during the last few months resurface and it made him mess up a spin too. More points lost.

He saved what he could save of that program by putting all his remaining energy into the last jump. It was not fully rotated, he felt that. The panel of judges was probably going to call an under rotation. More points lost.

But he didn’t want to hear from _anyone_ that he stopped fighting for his jumps during a bad program.

He finished his last spin a couple of seconds after the music stopped. He didn’t bother to hold his finishing pose. He wanted to get off the ice as quickly as possible. He accepted the polite clapping of the crowd and headed towards the exit. He didn’t even look at Kolivan in the eyes.

“What happened there?” asked Kolivan, as they were sitting in the Kiss and Cry, waiting for the results.

Keith tortured his gloves. He couldn’t come up with an explanation more complex than _I was nervous_.

He shouldn’t have felt that way. Not after starting his season with a good showing at his first competition.

As soon as he heard the score, that put him currently in seventh place, he stood up and stormed out of the place. There were three more skaters to go, so by the end of the Men’s Short Program he was going to be in tenth place.

When he was back at the hotel, he holed up in his room until dinner. He didn’t touch his phone. He could imagine how they were talking about him online: the current U.S. champion letting down his home crowd with a frankly pathetic performance.

He didn’t write to Lance or Allura, like he usually did. He didn’t write to Shiro either, even though he saw a couple of texts from him. He just slept a little and passed time until he had to go to dinner.

As he was getting dressed, he realized he was not really hungry. And he didn’t want to see the other competitors.

So he went for a walk instead.

It was already dark, the wind chill.

He was so disappointed in himself. It was just like last season, and the one before that: he was completely unable to have two good competitions in a row. It was always a rollercoaster with him, highs and lows following one another in a confused vortex of shining successes and utter failures. He walked around the city with eyes glued to the sidewalk, fists clenched in his pockets.

His phone chimed once. He stopped. A second chime told him that it was a phone call. He pulled out the cell phone and his heart missed a beat when he read Shiro’s name on the screen.

“Hey.”

_“Hey,”_ a low and caring voice said.

“Everything alright?”

_“I’m fine,”_ he replied, then paused. _“Hope I’m not bothering you.”_

“No, don’t worry.”

_“You were not replying to my texts. I was worried.”_

“Sorry.” Keith sighed deeply. “You saw the competition, didn’t you?”

_“Yeah.”_

Keith looked for a quiet corner and he found it in an empty parking lot, in front of a closed supermarket.

_“Lance told me you’re not answering his texts either.”_

“Since when do you and Lance talk?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

_“What, are your friends not allowed to talk to each other?”_

“That’s not what I meant.”

There was a moment of silence.

_“Do you want to talk?”_

“What’s to say about that? It was a disaster,” he replied in a bitter tone. “I was nervous. I made a mistake and I couldn’t keep my cool. As usual.”

_“It didn’t happen at International Skating Classic,”_ Shiro pointed out.

“Well, but-“ He stopped. It was true. He’d had problems with the short program there too, but he had managed to keep his focus in that occasion. There was somewhere inside him the reason for that missed meltdown and the words to express it, but he needed a few moments to find them in his turmoil.

_“Keith?”_

“But you were there,” he said and then let out an awkward laugh. “You spoiled me with your presence.”

He could feel Shiro smile at the other end of the call. _“It’s flattering, but why is my presence instrumental in your delivery of a good program?”_

Keith rubbed his feet against the concrete. “It’s just… it’s how calm you are.”

_“Kolivan is calm too.”_

“Kolivan is cold, that’s different.”

Shiro chuckled.

“I guess I got used to having you with me,” admitted Keith. “It’s like, I look at you and everything around me slows down. But I realize this only now, cause you’re not here.”

For a few second, he couldn’t hear any sound coming from Shiro.

“Shiro?” asked Keith, worried he might have said something wrong. “Are you still there?”

_“Yes, still here,”_ replied Shiro. _“I simply don’t really know what to say. I didn’t know I had this effect on you.”_

Keith relaxed his shoulders. “Well, I didn’t know that either.”

_“Can I ask you something?”_

“Sure.”

He waited for Shiro’s question, but it never came.

_“No, never mind. It’s not important. Listen Keith, I can’t be there. But if you need to, call me tomorrow before the competition, okay? And remember-”_

“Patience yields focus,” finished Keith. “I remember. You’re giving me some good advice.”

_“Well, I would have already retired, if I hadn’t stumbled upon you. I owe you something.”_

Keith smiled, a thin veil of calmness falling over his mind. “How was your day?”

“My day? Fine. As usual. Although the rink is a little empty without you shooting from one end of the rink to the other.”

Keith chuckled.

“Goodnight Shiro.”

_“Goodnight Keith.”_

 

*

 

He really didn’t need to, but the next morning he woke up earlier than expected. He got dressed quietly to no disturb his roommate and had breakfast in a still half empty hall.

He was…

Calm.

He didn’t know if it was still the effect of Shiro’s voice or if there was no explanation behind that mood. He just knew that, unlike the day before, he was focused, he felt ready for the upcoming competition. He was nervous, of course, but it was good, it kept him concentrated, and it never turned into panic.

When the other skaters saw him arrive at the rink, they saw a completely different man. The tense jaw of the day before had been replaced by sharp eyes, his hunched posture by a straight back.

Since he was tenth out of twelve competitors, he was in the first group. It was, after all, better that way: he didn’t risk losing his focus.

When his turn came, he looked at Kolivan and before the man could say anything, he told him: “I know what to do.”

Kolivan nodded.

“Good luck.”

Something snapped inside him, as he skated towards the center of the ring.

He had been praised as the future of American figure skating when he had won the World Junior Championship. They had put unrealistic expectations on him and they had been quick to throw him away when he had failed to meet them.

And they _didn’t matter_. The medias didn’t matter. The fans of the sport didn’t matter. He was not skating for them. He didn’t win medals to please them. He was doing it for himself. He thought back at when Shiro had told him about how his emotions could be a strength and remembered how Shiro looked at him when he was performing.

He was damn good at skating and he was going to prove it.

He heard it in his head one last time before the program started.

_“Patience yields focus.”_

He felt the first note of the music resonate in his chest. When he started moving, he knew it was with a smoothness that he had never displayed, _he felt it_.

He couldn’t explain it, but it was like he was hearing the music for the first time. It flowed through his body, guided his arms, matching his movements to the rhythm. He finally understood the presence of every element that Ulaz had put in the choreography. An arm extending softly as the music slowed down. A gesture a little more forceful as the melody built up.

He was so caught up in the program, he almost started humming the music.

_“This is how Shiro must feel every time he skates,”_ he thought. That was probably the feeling Shiro had lost during his crisis after the Olympics.

He lost focus for a moment and because of that lost control over his speed and fell, but for once it didn’t affect him. He was okay with that mistake. He could make up for it; he still had the time to do that.

_“It can’t become worse than yesterday,”_ he thought.

He was running out of breath and the fall had tired him out, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. He had made it that far in the program and he had never felt so good during a competition, he couldn’t let go now.

All his remaining jumps were perfectly synched with the music, thus creating an excitement in the crowd that pushed the spectators to their feet before the music even ended.

He held his ending pose for a moment, then fell to his knees, exhausted, and fought for his breath. The adrenaline high was leaving him, letting the exhaustion crash upon him.

The clapping of the enthusiastic public was only a background noise. He raised his head, looking for Kolivan, and smiled when their eyes met. Kolivan raised his eyebrows: Keith _never_ smiled after a performance, no matter how well it had gone.

Then, all of a sudden, he started laughing. _Did you see that?_ he wanted to shout. _I am better than ever. I’m better than all of you expected me to be_.

In the end, Keith got the highest score for the free skate of the evening, but combined with the points of the short program it was not enough to put him on the podium. He was too far behind, but he still managed to jump from the tenth to the fourth position.

He was satisfied with his long program and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at this chapter, looks at the next one* uh. Sorry, Keith. I guess I like making you suffer a little.  
> Feel free to tell me if there are grammar mistakes, I'm not a navite speaker and I don't have a beta.  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro makes a confession and a Ney Year's Eve party has weird repercussions on Keith's feelings

When they came back home, Kolivan had to threaten Keith to lock him in his room to recover. Keith eventually complied, even though it sucked for him having to stay away from the ice. Shiro, on the other hand, took the opportunity, one evening, to surprise his friend with blueberry muffins from his favorite coffee shop.

They sat together in the kitchen, as Keith wolfed down one of them and Shiro nursed a cup of tea offered by Keith’s father. Shiro was relieved to see that Keith was recovering quickly and without problems; he was sure he would have been allowed back on the ice in no time.

“How are Lance and Allura?” asked Keith, who still hadn’t seen his friends since he had left for the NHK Trophy.

“They’re worried sick about you, but I told them you’re recovering well.”

“Tell Lance that this is payback for that one time when Allura’s blade sliced his thigh during practice and he kept trying to hide it.”

Shiro almost chocked on his tea. “When did that happen?”

“A couple of years ago.”

There was a pause during which Keith finished his muffin.

He came back to training a few days later. He still had to be careful about his ankle, but at least he was allowed back on the ice.

It was during those days that Shiro started acting a little weird. Keith at first attributed his behavior to being worried about his health, but as the days passed and Keith regained his strength, Shiro’s mood didn’t change. He was unusually pensive and serious, and even distracted during practice. He was evasive when Keith tried to ask him if everything was alright.

The answer came a couple of days later, after he and Shiro had had dinner together at Shiro’s place. Shiro proposed that they went for a walk, a suggestion that Keith found weird, given that it was already dark and cold, but he could see that there was a reason behind that request.

So he said yes.

They were not too far from a small park that was usually visited only by dog owners. Shiro guided Keith there, chatting about what had happened during Keith’s absence.

The park was dimly lit by the lampposts and the fresh wind dried out their lips. Keith sank his head between the shoulders, trying to keep out the cold, his breath condensing in small white clouds in front of his face. He wished Shiro would just talk to him about whatever he wanted to tell him, instead of dragging him around the park.

“Let’s sit,” said Shiro.

Keith could already feel himself getting colder, but he didn’t protest, and sat as close to Shiro as possible without making things awkward.

Next to him, Shiro looked at the sky and cleared his throat.

“There’s a… an interview with a sport magazine. Scheduled for next week,” he started, with a strange edge in his voice.

Keith nodded.

“I’m gonna use this opportunity to make an announcement,” continued Shiro.

Keith tensed up, his mind immediately going back to their conversation about retirement. He tried to keep his breathing regular, but he could feel the panic and pain rising in his chest. He couldn’t force Shiro to not retire, he didn’t want to do it. Still, he couldn’t accept that so easily. Shiro had become an important person in his daily life, his presence helped him get through not only practice but also competitions, he _needed_ him, he couldn’t just leave him behind.

“Shiro-”

“I’ve decided to come out of the closet.”

Keith froze and stared at Shiro. He was not talking about his career?

“Wait, what?” he asked.

Shiro looked at him and clearly saw on his face an expression that he was not expecting to see.

“Is something wrong?” There was an anxiousness in his voice that he couldn’t suppress.

“Your announcement is not your retirement?”

Shiro’s mouth fell open, then he started laughing in relief.

“No, Keith, the news is that I’m gay,” he managed to say.

“ _Oh, thank God_ ,” exhaled Keith, slumping against the backrest of the bench. From the pit of his stomach he felt a laughter rise and a few seconds later he was laughing alongside Shiro. He was doubled in two, unable to catch his breath, too high on relief to think about having just expressed gratitude for the fact that his friend was gay.

“I have to tell you,” said Shiro. “Someone replying _thank God_ after telling them that I’m gay is… new.”

Keith tried to catch his breath. “Yeah, not the reaction you were expecting, probably.”

Shiro’s smile turned bitter and his laughter died. “No, but it’s better than the last one.”

Keith stopped laughing. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t want my parents to learn it through an interview. So I called them, a few of days ago.” He sighed with a weak smile still on his lips. “They didn’t take it as well as you did,” he explained.

Keith clenched his teeth, not really sure how to react. “Shiro, I’m sorry.”

Shiro shrugged. “It’s okay. I was expecting it.”

He was avoiding Keith’s eyes, trying to hide how much more his parents’ reaction was hurting him. Keith bit his lower lip, his mind working to come up with something uplifting to say and failing. He was not good with words. So instead of saying something trite and predictable, he stood up and placed himself in front of Shiro, slipping his arms around his friend’s shoulders, so that Shiro’s head was resting against his chest. He pulled him tight, hoping that he was not doing anything inappropriate.

Shiro tensed up at first, but it took him only a few moments to relax between Keith’s arms. He put his arms around Keith’s waist and glued his ear to Keith’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Are you nervous?”

“I… I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

Shiro laughed softly. It was barely a sound, but Keith felt it vibrating in his stomach.

When he thought the hug had lasted an acceptable amount of time, Keith let go of Shiro, but left his hands on Shiro’s shoulders.

“I don’t think it needs to be said, but know that you’re my best friend and I love you. You’re like the brother I never had. Being gay doesn’t change anything,” he reassured Shiro, realizing he still hadn’t said anything about Shiro’s confession.

Shiro closed his eyes and smiled, his face transfigured by relief.

“Thank you, Keith,” he whispered. He opened his eyes again. “Are you really that worried about my retirement?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Keith lowered his eyes and tried to put on a neutral expression. He wanted to tell Shiro to forget those words. That they were meaningless.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell a complete lie, though.

“Not _that_ much, but – he paused and fidgeted – a little? I don’t-“

The words got momentarily stuck in his throat. Seeing Keith in distress pushed Shiro to grab his hand in a comforting gesture.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Shiro squeezed the hand he was already holding.

“Keith, I’m not going anywhere. Not in the near future. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But-“

“No _but_. I promised you that and I’m doing everything in my power to keep that promise. I _want_ to keep on competing. With you. Against you. I _have_ the motivation to keep going.” He grabbed Keith’s other hand too.  “Coming here was… It was a shot in the dark. But it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

The weight that had oppressed Keith for months was finally lifted. The tightness in his chest was gone. He could stop being afraid: Shiro _wanted_ to keep on competing. That was all he needed to hear. He was not being held back by a weak promise: he had actually found the will he was looking for after his crisis.

“And after that?” he asked, his eyes fixed on their hands. “After the Olympics?”

“I’ll be twenty-seven, sounds like a good age to finish my career.” He saw Keith’s pout. “What?”

“I wish you didn’t have to retire.”

Shiro laughed. “You talk like you’ll never have to.”

“Well… I don’t think about it a lot.”

“That’s good. You’re only nineteen. Your career has just started.”

Keith smiled.

They walked back to Shiro’s apartment in comforting silence.

When the interview came out, it made some noise in the figure skating world. Keith read it out of curiosity: Shiro and the journalist mostly talked about his decision to change coaches, his thoughts about retirement and his new life in the United States. Very little space was dedicated to the coming out, just like Shiro wanted, but that little was enough to surprise the majority of the fans.

 

*

 

A month later Shiro flew to Vancouver to take part in the Grand Prix Final, where he placed fourth, and after that he had to take part in the Japanese Championship, that he easily won, earning his fourth National title. As much as Keith would have liked to have him for the Christmas dinner, it was impossible to come back to the United States in time for that, since the Japanese Nationals ended the twenty-fifth of December.

He had, on the other hand, the opportunity to participate to the New Years Eve party thrown by Lance’s family. It had started four years before and it was becoming a tradition for Allura and Keith to take part. It was a good excuse to include Shiro in the group a little more.

At first Shiro hadn’t been sure about going, but he figured that, since he liked Lance, he was probably going to like his family too, if they were like him.

Lance lived far from them, in another part of the city, so the evening of New Year’s Eve, Keith, Shiro and Allura all drove together to Lance’s house. It was a small apartment, but Keith suspected that it had secret rooms inside, because there was no way they could have that many people over and not make the house explode.

The trio walking up the stairs started hearing music even before reaching the second floor. When they finally knocked on the door, they were welcomed by Lance in a silly party hat and a niece hanging off his shoulders.

“Hello and welcome to my house! Shiro, I hope you like our little cave,” he said, letting them in.

“I’m sure I will,” reassured him Shiro.

He seemed quite comfortable in the company of Veronica, Lance’s older sister. Keith watched him accept a glass of wine, probably the only amount of alcohol he felt like he could allow himself to drink.

There was nothing in particular going on at the party – it was organized by the family, so there was not going to be excessive music or too much alcohol going around. Honestly, Keith wouldn’t have had it any other way. That was more like his kind of party: only people that he knew and not too chaotic. He could have done it without the kids, though.

Lance’s niece and nephew took a liking to Shiro, who was strong enough to carry them around the house under his arms, making the kids laugh like crazy.

Keith observed what was going on in the living room from the kitchen. He already knew that Shiro was good with and generally well-liked by kids. He saw that every day at the rink, when Shiro messed around with Kolivan’s younger students.

“I’m glad he’s having fun,” said Allura, coming up behind him.

Keith almost let the glass he was holding go out of surprise.

“You were worried?” he asked.

She leaned against the kitchen table. “No, but it was not easy to predict whether or not he was going to like this.”

“You think?”

“You don’t?”

He shrugged. “He may be quite introverted, but he likes being around people,” he pointed out.

Allura smiled. “He’s not as easy to read for me as he is for you, apparently,” she said.

They watched him put down the kids to pick up Lance, after Lance’s nephew told him there was no way he was strong enough to lift uncle Lance.

“You two had no problem getting along since the beginning, am I right?” she asked.

“You’re right. It was… I still have trouble believing it,” he admitted.

Meeting Shiro had been truly magical.

He felt like he could talk to him about _anything_ that came to his mind and he knew Shiro would have listened. And the other way round, Shiro could be talking about all the ways he had tried to cook mushrooms in his life and Keith would have soaked in every word.

“Seems to me that you spend quite some time together.”

“Are you trying to imply something?”

“No.”

“Alright.”

She looked at the plate she was holding. “I’m just happy to see that you have found a best friend.”

“You and Lance are my best friends too,” remarked Keith.

“But it’s not the same, right?”

Keith looked into his glass. It hurt him, but she was right. It hurt him, because Lance and Allura had been there for him since he was twelve, they had shared a lot of difficult moments together and he felt like he was wronging them. But she was right: Shiro was something else. He was a calming and grounding presence in his everyday life.

It was easy with him. Everything was.

“It’s okay if it’s not. It’s not a competition.”

“But I’ve known you and Lance for longer.”

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter. You meet someone and you just click with them. It’s a beautiful feeling, don’t feel guilty about that.”

“Thank you, Allura.”

“Anytime.”

A kid shouted out of excitement.

“And how it was with you and Lance?”

“Well, you’ve heard the story more than once. The way he held my hand so tight that time. It made me feel… safe. Our good relationship was not immediate. It took some time, but now I cannot imagine skating with anyone but him.”

Keith smiled and they both watched Lance being carried around by Shiro.

“We would be a _great_ ice dance team!” exclaimed Lance.

“He still can be a big idiot, though,” she added and they both laughed.

Keith wanted so badly to ask more questions about her and Lance. It was so clear to him that Lance had a crush on Allura, but she seemed to be completely oblivious. And Allura was not dumb, she was one of the smartest people he had ever met, so how could she possibly miss all the clues?

Maybe she was too smart to understand Lance’s dumb flirting techniques.

“It’s almost midnight,” shouted Lance. Shiro gently put his friend on the ground.

“Hey, Allura, are you gonna kiss me tonight?” asked Lance, as he did every year.

“Maybe next time,” she said.

“Aw, c’mon! Do you want me to kiss Keith?” whined Lance.

“Try to come near me and I punch you,” said Keith.

“My friends are so mean!”

“I can kiss you if you want, Lance,” proposed Shiro.

Lance gleefully accepted Shiro’s offer, pointing out to the other two how better Shiro was as a friend.

When midnight rolled around, the kiss between Lance and Shiro was just a quick peck, but it was enough to make the boy happy. He fist bumped the air and cheered for having finally found a midnight kisser. Keith watched the scene, happy for Lance, but he was also feeling something… weird. He could not identify it, no matter how hard he tried. It was located in his stomach and it bothered him, like a pebble had gotten stuck there.

When he disappeared into the bathroom, Lance took advantage of that to approach Shiro. He found him on the balcony, looking with empty eyes at the distant fireworks.

“How much time has passed since you told me that you wanted to confess your feelings?” asked Lance, coming up next to Shiro.

“Lance…”

“No, no, just let me do some quick math-“

“You suck at math.”

“It’s been a month and a half since I received a text, out of the blue, saying that you were gonna tell Keith that you’re in love with him,” said Lance.

Shiro sighed.

“And did you do it?”

“No…”

“Good to know.”

 

*

 

The break for New Year was short, just enough to give the skaters a few days to recharge and then start the preparation for the Four Continents and the World Championship with a new charge.

Keith was feeling good about the upcoming competitions. His first obstacle was going to be the US Nationals, where the only threat was going to be James Griffin. He had only narrowly beat him the season before and unless he kept it together and delivered two good programs he was not going to keep his title.

When the time came around and the Nationals took place, he was able to beat Griffin again, this time with a larger margin. In that same competition, Allura and Lance earned their first senior medal at a national level, coming in second and securing a spot for the World Championship.

Shiro was not there to give him his support, but Keith knew himself a bit better, so the day before the short program and before the long program he called Shiro. Just to chat, there was nothing that he needed to hear, no encouragements that Shiro had to say. He just wanted to hear his voice.

The more they talked, the more Keith’s body relaxed. By the end of the call he was ready to fall asleep, his fears for the skate the next day stored away in the back of his mind.

“Thank you for putting up with me,” said Keith, as they were closing their conversation.

“You don’t have to thank me. I like listening to you talking.”

Shiro’s words made something bloom inside Keith’s chest. It was warm, somehow indescribable. He could not exactly pin down where it came from or what it meant. He just knew that it made him feel good. _Safe_. Feeling safe around Shiro was not unusual for him, but what was unusual, was it being accompanied by that feeling of something swelling, like his heart was getting a bit bigger.

When he came back from the Nationals, Shiro gave him a hug that seemed to last for hours.

“Well done,” he whispered.

“Thank you.”

It struck him when he came back from the Four Continents Championship: Shiro’s birthday was coming up and he had no idea how to surprise him.

He couldn’t take him to that same Japanese restaurant. He had to think about something new.

_Thinking about something new_ didn’t bring any results, he realized one evening, after spending the entire day trashing options for a birthday party.

_“I know him,”_ he thought, frustrated. _“I know him well, it shouldn’t be that difficult to come up with a birthday plan.”_

He rolled on his side, then again on his back.

_“What would make him happy?”_

He shoot up.

_“I know what.”_

He got out of bed. It was a few minutes past midnight, but he didn’t care, tomorrow was his day off, he could sleep in. He took out his drawing equipment and started working, restless and anxious. When he finished the first sketch, it was almost four in the morning. He yawned and went to bed, able to sleep now that his idea had a physical form.

For the next two weeks, he kept working on that piece, with an intensity that alarmed his parents. But he had the time that he had and there was no way he was going to finish late.

It was not a leap year, so he decided for Shiro that they were going to celebrate on the twenty-eighth.

“Alright,” said Shiro, when Keith announced him that. “I’m excited now.”

“You should be.”

The days passed faster than expected. When Keith picked up Shiro from his apartment after dinner the evening of the twenty-eight, he still refused to tell him what they were doing.

“But we’ll be there in a few minutes!” protested Shiro.

“I’m doing the exact same thing that you did for my birthday,” pointed out Keith.

Shiro got quiet, until the moment they parked and he realized where they were.

“The observatory?”

Keith was busy locking the car door, but he could hear the excitement in Shiro’s voice. Then he turned to Shiro and his heart almost missed a beat: his eyes were _shining_. He had never seen him this happy.

He did not understand a lot of what was being explained during the visit. What he _did_ understand though, was that Shiro was enjoying every moment, soaking in every word that was being told. When they went to the terrace to observe the sky, without thinking Shiro grabbed Keith’s hand and pointed at the sky, to show him a constellation.

Keith was so surprised by that spontaneous gesture, that for a few seconds he was not able to take his eyes off their linked hands. He liked it. How warm and soft Shiro’s hand was. The first time they had held hands he hadn’t paid much attention, but it surprised him now, the softness. Shiro was all hard muscles from all the training, so he, stupidly, hadn’t expected his hands to me much different. And yet.

He focused on what Shiro was pointing at, repressing the instinct to rub Shiro’s thumb with his.

Back in the car he reached for the backseat to grab a sheet of paper and he carefully made sure that Shiro didn’t see what was on it.

“I didn’t know what to get you,” began Keith. _I wanted my gift to be felt,_ he thought. _I wanted it to be personal. Important. And I hope this will tell you how important you are to me._ “This is the best thing I could think of,” he said.

He gave Shiro the paper.

Keith at that point had lost count of how many times he had seen Shiro’s eyes shine like that in the course of the evening. But he knew he wanted to make them shine again and again.

The gift was a drawing. The unfinished sketch that Shiro had found months before in Keith’s room, during his dinner with Keith’s family. Keith had taken it, started it again, worked on it for _days_ until it had satisfied him.

Then he had given it color and shades, painting galaxies in the background, so that it looked like Shiro was gliding not on the ice, but on a night’s sky.

It took Shiro a few moments to be able to say something. He wasn’t expecting anything, but that gift meant everything. Keith hadn’t just given him a gift: he had donated hours of work taken out of his free time to create something unique and intimate. Something just for him.

“Keith, I-“ He stopped.

“You?”

With his hands lightly shaking, Shiro closed his eyes. _“I love you.”_

“I love it,” he said. “I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a little late, real life happened, unfortunately  
> Unbeta'd, kudos and comments are always appreciated, blah blah blah, the usual


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith comes to a horrifying conclusion, Shiro is unaware of everything and Lance makes a bold suggestion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh, not totally satisfied but I don't want to delay the publication  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated

March had just started, which meant that the last big competition of the skating season was coming up: the World Championship.

The atmosphere at the rink in the last few weeks had been electric and it was becoming stressful even for Kolivan. For the first time he had to deal with two top class athletes going to such an important competition. There seemed to be no tension between Keith and Shiro, but he was ready to rearrange the schedule so that they were training in different places and could stay away from each other if they needed space.

That precaution was, in the end, not necessary. Even though Keith _was_ behaving a little out of the ordinary.

“Do you think he’s avoiding me?” Shiro asked Lance, while they were alone.

“Shiro, I have literally no idea.”

Shiro went back to brooding. Lance took pity on him.

“Why would he? Did you tell him something that might have upset him?”

Shiro squeezed his memory like a lemon, but he could not come up with something. Every single encounter had been… ordinary.

“Can’t think of anything.”

“Then maybe he’s just a little moody,” suggested Lance.

“Yes, but he won’t talk to me about it.”

“So what? He doesn’t talk to me when he’s upset about something either.”

 _“But, usually, he tells me what bothers him,”_ thought Shiro.

There was a reason Keith was not talking why he was acting weird. And that reason was that _Shiro_ was the source of his current distress.

If he had been confused on New Year’s Eve, not he had no doubt about it: Shiro made him feel weird. And he had no idea why. The sense of guilt for keeping his best friend at a distance did not help him figure out what was going on inside his head.

For the first time since they had know each other, there was an issue they didn’t know how to tackle.

Shiro was silently thinking about that one evening, as he and Keith were watching a movie together. It was an action movie, something about spies, packed with car chases and fights, that Keith had picked up explicitly because he wanted something that did not require a lot of concentration to follow. They were laying on Shiro’s bed and Shiro had his laptop on his legs. Keith had to lean over a little to see the screen properly.

“Do you want me to…” said Shiro, making the gesture of moving the computer so that it was facing Keith.

Keith shook his head. “No, don’t worry.”

Shiro went back to watching. He was not the biggest fan on those movies, but it was Keith’s turn to pick and if Keith liked it, then it was good enough for him.

A few minutes later, Keith, who was regretting not accepting the offer of moving the laptop, decided to make himself more comfortable: he leaned against Shiro’s shoulder and rested his head there.

If he had been a little less focused on the movie and his own thoughts, he would have felt Shiro going completely still for a moment and the relax again. But even if he had paid attention, he would not have heard the frantic pace that Shiro’s heart took in a split of second.

If he channeled all of his attention on the screen, Shiro was more or less able to ignore all the contact that was happening in that moment. The heat of Keith’s shoulder against his. The hair caressing his cheek. Keith’s thorax moving as he breathed.

His instinct told him to take Keith’s hand and interlace their fingers together and he could not do that, no matter how strongly he wanted that. That would have crossed the boundary of friendship that Shiro had set for himself. But in that moment it would have been easier to cut his own fingers than resist the temptation to feel the texture of Keith’s skin and how soft his hand was.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Yes?”

His answer came how with a pitch higher than he would have liked.

“I hope I don’t, uh, say anything wrong, but can I ask you a question?”

Shiro knew exactly what Keith was going to ask. Those questions always started like that.

“Ask away.”

“When did you realize that you were gay? I mean, did you always know or it happened later?”

The movie was still going: the main characters were close to discovering who the bad guy was, as they rushed through a tunnel that would lead them to the villain’s lair. Neither of them bothered to stop it, as pretending to pay attention to the movie helped them keep the conversation casual.

“I didn’t realize it until the first time that I fell in love,” said Shiro. “My life revolved around school and skating. I was not paying much thought to romantic stuff or the likes.”

“And who did you fall in love with? If you don’t mind telling me. Am I asking too much stuff?”

“No, Keith, you’re not asking too any questions.”

“Oh, good.”

“His name was Adam. He was an exchange American student. He stayed for a year in my school, but we decided to break up when he had to go back home.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

Keith went quiet again. The movie was almost finished.

“Why did you ask me?”

“Uh? Oh, nothing. I was just curious.”

He was not simply curious. Since New Year’s Eve and since seeing that quick kiss happen between Shiro and Lance, he had felt weird. Weird about Shiro. He didn’t like to spend hours ruminating about that feeling, because no matter how much time he dedicated to the thought, he could not figure out what that weirdness meant.

 

*

 

The World Championship was taking place in Helsinki that year. Allura, Lance, Shiro and Keith would have all travelled together, since the two ice dancers had been selected for the competition too.

“This senior debut so far has been good for you two!” commented Shiro, as they were having lunch together.

“Yeah, the results in the Grand Prix might not have been outstanding, but a silver medal at Nationals is quite satisfying,” admitted Allura.

“I think you two can be proud of yourself.” Shiro looked like a proud father as he said that.

“I can’t believe we’re going to the World Championship all together,” said Lance.

“Me neither,” said Keith, with considerable less enthusiasm.

Lance put down his fork and tapped his chin. “We should make this a memorable occasion.”

“And how should we do that? Do you want to set some banners on fire so that you will be banned from every competition?” asked Keith.

Lance shook his head, as if Keith was making a serious suggestion, and went quiet for a few seconds.

“I have an idea,” said Lance, with a sinister gleam in his eyes.

“Spit it out,” said Keith. “That look you have is frightening.”

“Why don’t you two create an exhibition together?” he proposed, indicating him and Shiro.

Even Allura stared at him with a skeptic face.

“What? It’s not that weird, and even if they don’t let you use it in the closing gala, you can always use it in an ice show!”

Keith raised an eyebrow, but when he turned to Shiro he saw on his face that he was taking the proposal into consideration.

“You know they’ll never let us do that, right?”

“I know, but it’s true that we could also use it in ice shows,” pointed out Shiro.

“Maybe, but I would have to be invited to these ice shows,” said Keith.

“Aw, c’mon, it could be fun!” said Shiro, making puppy eyes at Keith.

“I’m never gonna do this.”

A couple of days later they chose the music and started working on the choreography. Shiro told Kolivan that they wanted it to be something created entirely by the two of them, so found a way to give them a little extra time on the ice, after all classes were done.

The song they had chosen was, quite fittingly, Queen’s _You’re my best friend_.

It was late in the evening and they were the only ones left on the ice. They had their music in loop, otherwise they would have missed the beginning every time.

It was not a complicated exhibition. A few mirrored moves, a couple of passages where one skated under the bull’s eye and the other one waited in the dark for him moment. Shiro was the one who had done most of the choreography, but he had decided to leave Keith complete freedom in regards of his solo parts of the exhibition.

It was the first time for Keith choreographing a chunk of a program on his own. It was exciting, having so much control over a program, but he was grateful that it was just an exhibition and not a competitive program.

They were supposed to finish together with a spin, but Keith was so tired that day that at the end of the spin, dizzy and weak, stumbled on his own feet and finished with his face on the ice. He had a mouthful of the shards that his blades had scratched off the ice and decided that it tasted horrible. Seeing him sprawled on the ice like a carpet made Shiro laugh so hard that he lost his balance and fell on his butt.

“Oh, is my pain that funny to you?” said Keith, spitting out ice.

In response, Shiro laughed a bit harder. Keith tried to get back on his feet and stumbled again. With a resigned sigh, he laid on the ice and studied the ceiling, catching his breath and letting his burning muscles rest for a few seconds. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro moving.

“You know what?”

“What?” asked Shiro.

“After all, I’m happy you pushed me to do this.”

“You don’t hate me? Even though you said you’d never take part in it?”

Keith chuckled. “I could never hate you.”

Shiro was back on his feet and was quietly gliding towards Keith. He helped his friend back on his feet, as the music started once again.

“Can we wrap this up for tonight? I can’t feel my legs anymore,” asked Keith.

“Sure.”

Shiro went to the side of the rink and stopped Freddie Mercury from singing about his best friend for the umpteenth time. Without the music, Keith suddenly realized how _empty_ the place was. It was just him and Shiro. As usual.

Why did it feel so weird?

“Can you just let me try one last thing?” asked Shiro.

“Depends on what it is.”

“Can we try a lift? Like those that Lance and Allura do.”

Keith didn’t say anything, letting his face to the talking.

“I want to see if we can include it into the exhibition,” insisted Shiro.

Keith looked into his friend’s pleading eyes and sighed. “We’re gonna hurt ourselves so badly. C’mon, let’s do this.”

Shiro smiled, excited like a child who had just decided to disobey his parents.

“Just a question,” said Keith, following Shiro. “Do you have any idea how a lift is done?”

“I was gonna improvise.”

Keith rubbed his temples. “We’re gonna die.”

Shiro had studied videos of ice dance in the last couple of days, but there was no way he could understand the dynamics of a lift without having someone explain them to him. After a couple failed attempts, he decided that it was better to ask Lance and Allura advice, but they had to wait the next day to do that.

“Well, at least I’m all in one piece,” commented Keith, as he headed to the exit.

“Wait just let me try one last time,” said Shiro, slipping an arm around Keith’s waist. “I have an idea.”

“Shiro, _no_.”

Shiro’s tone of voice was dead serious, but whatever he wanted to do was sabotaged by Keith’s lack of cooperation. Keith didn’t exactly understand how it happened, but a moment before Shiro was trying to lift him from behind and the next they were both laying on the ice, with Keith on top of Shiro.

It took Keith a few moments to rewind what had just happened. Shiro’s groan brought him back to the present.

“Shiro, are you okay?” he asked, rolling off Shiro’s chest. A concussion was the last thing they needed.

“I’m fine,” reassured him Shiro. “Just a little bruised, probably.”

Keith sighed in relief and dropped his head on Shiro’s chest.

“Next time, tell me exactly what you wanted to do,” he scolded him.

“Sorry.”

Keith rested there, ear pressed against Shiro’s chest. His heart was doing his best to pump blood and oxygen to the weary body, but despite it being a sign of fatigue, the frantic heartbeat was almost relaxing to listen to. Keith closed his eyes, tempted, for a single moment, to fall asleep there.

“Keith, are you alright?” asked Shiro, seeing that he was not standing up.

“Yeah, I just-“

He stopped talking, surprised by how much his voice was trembling. Something was squeezing his guts and his mouth was dry and his heart was beating ridiculously fast and why was it beating so fast, what was wrong with him, what was happening?

 _“Oh,”_ he though, panicking. _“Oh, shit.”_

“Keith?”

“Just tired.” _“Oh, shit.”_

He quickly got back to his feet and brushed the ice off his pants with trembling hands.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” insisted Shiro. “You’re shaking a bit.”

“I just need to eat,” brushed him off Keith, rushing out of the rink.

He quickly changed and he almost went home before remembering that he was supposed to drive Shiro home. He waited in the parking lot, his head still spinning a little. He put a hand over his chest to feel how fast his heart was still beating. He took a few deep breaths.

 _“No, no, no, no,”_ he thought.

Shiro reached him with a concerned look on his face, but avoided asking Keith one more time if he was feeling fine.

They drove home in silence. When Keith was finally sitting at the dinner table, he realized he was not feeling very hungry, but he still pushed himself to eat something.

_“This is bad.”_

He was tired, exhausted even, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not fall asleep. He studied the wall, then the closet’s door. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear his mother’s faint snore in the room next to his.

_“This is very bad.”_

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ban all thoughts from his mind, but one of them in particular kept banging its fists on the inside of his head, demanding attention.

 _“I have a crush on Takashi Shirogane,”_ he thought, defeated.

Shiro. His best friend. The man he had to see every day. The one he spend countless hours next to on the ice.

“This is gonna suck,” he whispered to himself.

So it _had been_ jealousy what he had felt at the New Year’s Eve party. And immediately after that, he realized that what he had been scared about was not Shiro retiring as much as he was scared of him _leaving_. Not having him there with him at the ring every day. Not eating together. Not watching movies in the evening, eating popsicles. Not having coffee in quiet shops.

He went back to the day when they had met, rewound all the moments spent together, from the most important to the smallest ones, the ones where Shiro ruffled his hair or laughed a little harder at something he had said, and tried to pinpoint the moment he had started to fall for Shiro. Maybe when Shiro had called him after his disastrous short program at Skate America. Maybe during that afternoon together in Salt Lake City. Or maybe when he was showing him the city and Shiro’s eyes had sparkled eating that blueberry muffin.

Maybe he had simply looked at him that first day together and his heart had found the missing piece of the puzzle.

But it didn’t matter _when_. What mattered was that now he had in his hands feelings that he had no idea how to deal with and there was no way he could simply ignore them, not when he had the object of his affection under his eyes for the best part of the day.

It was going to end badly. So, _so_ badly.

 

*

 

The next morning Shiro kept Keith at distance. He could feel that there was some unidentified tension between them. Unidentified only on his end, obviously.

He had thought that things were getting better between him and Keith, but everything was going wrong again. He had no idea what had happened.

The only thing that he knew, was that his friend was colder towards him and he had no idea what he had done to make Keith that uncomfortable in his presence. Maybe he had hurt Keith trying to lift him and he was now angry at Shiro for putting him at risk. No matter how many times Keith told him there was nothing wrong, he couldn’t convince him.

Now that he was aware of his feelings Keith felt like he was walking around with _I’m in love with you, Shiro_ painted on his forehead. Interactions that seemed innocent just a couple of weeks before were now loaded with writings between the lines. Or at least that’s what he thought.

That day they didn’t stop to work on their exhibition. In his bed, that same evening, Shiro had trouble sleeping, too busy over-thinking all the conversations between him and Keith up until that point, to find his mistake.

The next day Keith seemed a little less tense. He was still a bit wary around Shiro, but he wasn’t outright avoiding him. That was something. They started working again on their exhibition a few days later, this time with Lance and Allura’s help.

Two weeks later they flew to Helsinki.

Shiro and Keith were, as usual, sitting next to each other. They were more or less back to acting like they did before that peculiar evening, even though, no matter how much time Shiro spent thinking about it, he still couldn’t find a plausible justification for Keith’s behavior.

Whatever had bothered him, he seemed to be over it now, though. Or maybe he was just focused on the competition.

They checked in at the hotel that evening and immediately went to the rink to get rid of the bureaucracy. After that, Lance insisted for them to have dinner altogether in some nice place in Helsinki, pushing on the fact they were abroad together for the first time.

“Is it really that big of a deal for you?” asked Keith, as they were sitting in a little restaurant in the center.

“Yes! You two do that all the time and you already went to two competitions together too!”

Those words grabbed Keith by the pit of his stomach. As irrational as it was, Keith feared for a moment that that sentence would have made Shiro realize that he was in love with him.

Apart from that, Lance didn’t complain anymore about Shiro and Keith going to cool places without him and Allura.

He couldn’t sleep that evening. His roommate being a snorer was only part of the reason. He was uneasy. He was scared. And he didn’t know how to handle the situation.

The World Championship could at least help him get his mind off Shiro.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith almost says too much, Shiro finally lands the jump and they both get something

The men’s short program was taking place on Wednesday morning. After that there was going to be the short dance. Shiro and Keith both found themselves in the last group of skaters.

It was a nice day. The air was cold, but there was a promising bright sun already shining in the clear sky. Keith had never seen a sky so clean. If he had known that Finland was that pretty, he would have stayed a few days more after the competition.

He felt strangely optimistic that morning and he didn’t like that. Taking results for granted was the biggest mistake an athlete could make. He shot a look at Shiro as they entered the arena. His well rested face betrayed a hint of tension.

Shiro turned to him and Keith was not fast enough to hide that he was looking at him.

“We could stay for the short dance,” proposed Shiro. “What do you say?”

“Sounds good. Lance wouldn’t forgive us if we missed it.”

Shiro smiled.

It was chaotic inside the arena. They found a corner to start warming up, as they waited for the current group of skaters to finish and the ice to be resurfaced. Keith put on his headphones to try and drown the other noises and create his private bubble. The stupid part of his brain that was still a hundred percent focused on his unwise crush told him to steal another glance and he obeyed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro already in his costume, looking psyched up and confident.

It always surprised him how much better knowing Shiro was there made him feel.

It was finally their turn.

The arena was full to the brim.

The warm up seemed to last mere seconds. He was the third of the group, so he probably should have gone back to the warm-up area. He didn’t though.

Shiro was the first one to skate.

The announcer called Shiro’s name. Thirty seconds to go before the short program. From the side of the rink, Keith watched him assume his starting pose, like he had done what felt like a million of times. He could see how nervous Shiro was, the tense muscles of his neck and his furrowed brows. On the spur of the moment, he grabbed the barrier and shouted an encouragement.

“You can do this, Shiro!”

He was standing a little too close to the cameras, so that shout had probably just been broadcasted live on every channel that was showing the world championship. He saw Shiro’s eyes dart in his direction and a swift smile brush his lips.

The internet was probably going to freak out about that.

It took a few seconds too long for the music to start, but the moment it did, Keith was gone. He tuned out the cameras, the lights, the entire crowd: there was only Shiro, who was building up his speed for the first jump. The quadruple Lutz.

He had never landed it in competition during that season. This championship was his last shot. With eyes glued to the figure shooting across the rink, he silently encouraged him. He saw Shiro turn, the left blade trace a curve on the ice and switch to an outside edge, his torso just slightly forward, a textbook set up for a Lutz jump.

His instinct told him to close his eyes, but he fought it. The right foot tapped the ice and Shiro sprung up, arms pulled in tight. He was always so quick to start the rotation.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four rotations.

Shiro’s right foot touched the ice, he unwrapped the left leg and stabilized himself. There was not a trace of emotion on his face. He had done it. He had finally landed that quadruple Lutz.

Both Keith and Kolivan threw themselves on the barrier. If there was anything more exciting for Keith than Shiro finally nailing that jump in a competition, was seeing Kolivan’s reaction. They held their breath for the next two minutes, watched Shiro nail every spin and choreographic movement. Keith stopped shaking only when all of Shiro’s jumps were done, ready to take in the beauty of the step sequence.

As an experienced athlete, Shiro had that ability of peaking just at the right time: he grew more and more confident in his programs with every competition, his movements just a little more fluid, his steps more secure. Now, when he started the step sequence, the emotion in his dancing was so contagious, Keith’s heart picked up the pace and his hands started shaking again.

Shiro’s steps were sharp, precise, he was generous in his movement, his arms outstretched towards the crowd, as if he was asking them to join him. And in a way he was doing that. There was nothing more important to him than knowing that the people watching were feeling what he was feeling. The cameras focused on Shiro’s face and he was _smiling_ , a radiant smile that Keith had seen time and time again as they were alone together, and for a moment he was jealous of that smile.

 The music ended and the applause that followed was deafening. With empty eyes, Keith watched the cascade of flowers cover the ice and the zealous attempts of the flower kids at cleaning the surface in the shortest time possible. He felt… drained. He was empty, like Shiro had grabbed his emotions and ripped them out of his chest, leaving just a neatly cut hole. How was he going to perform decently, feeling like this? Shiro had taken everything. He glanced at the screen that was replaying parts of Shiro’s performance and saw himself, bewildered and awestruck.

They showed Shiro in the Kiss and Cry, panting and smiling. He waved, as Kolivan put a jacket over his shoulders and passed him some water. Even before the score came up, Keith knew it was going to be a world record.

_“The score, please.”_

Keith turned to look directly at Shiro. Their eyes met.

_“In the short program Takashi Shirogane has earned a hundred eleven and twenty seven points. He is currently in the first place.”_

They both couldn’t contain their smiles.

It was a world record. It was the best comeback a skater could ask for. Keith’s eyes were glued to Shiro as he stepped out of the area, probably to go meet the journalists that were going to ask him questions about his world record, about landing the quad Lutz for the first time, about his comeback season. Keith himself could have written those questions, that’s how repetitive they were.

The skater going next had a rough program – Keith had seen him tape his ankle before the warm up, he was most likely injured. He ended up in sixth position.

Keith was next.

Keith was next and he had no idea with what energy he was going to perform. He had none left.

 _“Come on,”_ he told himself. _“You have skated with an injury. It can’t be worse than that.”_

It wasn’t worse than that, no. But the music needed a certain kind of energy from the performer and Keith couldn’t give it. When he finished his skate, the reaction of the crowd was lukewarm and Keith couldn’t blame them. He quickly bowed and went to the Kiss and Cry.

Just as he expected, his component’s score was lower than usual. He was third at the moment, and there were two more skaters to go.

By the end of the short program he was in fifth place.

Being so close to the first three positions left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he told himself that this was not the definitive ranking. He still had a chance the next day. To finally skate clean his long program and deliver.

A sudden surge of pressure squeezed his guts.

He looked for a few empty spots in the seats where he and Shiro, who was currently occupied with the press conference and small medal ceremony, could sit.

Shiro arrived while the first group of skaters was taking the ice.

“Did I miss them?” he asked.

Keith’s brain went haywire when their shoulders touched.

“No,” he said. “They’re in the second group. You can even go to the bathroom, if you want,” he added, awkwardly.

Shiro looked at him in a funny way. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

They watched a zamboni smooth the ice.

“Is this about the short-“

“No, it’s not about that.” He instantly regretted cutting Shiro off like that. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Keith desperately needed something to distract himself with, to avoid thinking about how Shiro’s knee kept brushing against his every time he moved.

 _“This is so fucking bad,”_ he thought. _“This is so much worse than I thought.”_

When the short dance finally started, he felt like the guitar string of an inexperienced player who was tuning an instrument for the first time and was _definitely going to break that string_.

Dance teams from smaller federations were always the first ones to go and it saddened Keith to see that the seats were always half empty at the start. People only turned up for the last ones, the big names. He zoned out for a while, although he never forgot to clap at the end of a performance.

He regained his focus when he heard the names of Lance and Allura being announced. They looked stunning in their costumes, Allura draped in teal and Lance in a matching shirt, which made him look not like an afterthought.

Keith had to admit it, Allura and Lance had a lot of chemistry on the ice. It made him forget how much he generally hated seeing dance teams desperately try to create fake sexual tension. There really was some tension there, he thought, as he watched Allura throw herself into Lance’s arms without a hint of fear.

“There is something I can’t understand,” said Shiro.

“What is it?”

“Well, look at them.” He pointed at the screen that was shown Lance and Allura hugging after their short dance. “How can someone as smart as Allura not see how blatantly in love Lance is with her?”

A chill run down Keith’s spine.

“I-I have no idea,” he managed to stutter.

 _“You are the last person who should ask this question,”_ he thought, and then thanked that he was either very good at hiding his feelings or that Shiro was dense.

“But you’re right,” he added after the initial shock. “How can you spend hours next to another person and still be oblivious about how they feel about you?”

Shiro nodded. They carefully avoided each other’s eyes.

“It’s like she doesn’t want to see it.”

“Maybe she’s scared,” said Keith.

Shiro turned to him.

“Scared?”

Keith realized what he had just said.

“Yes.” He shot to his feet. “Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Shiro didn’t try to stop him, thankfully. Keith stumbled down the stairs and when he saw the line at the toilets, he decided to just step outside for a moment and breathe some fresh air. He had gotten so close. Too close.

 _“Get it together, damn it!”_ he told himself.

When he came back, the subject of their conversation changed. Neither of them made the effort of bringing it back to the previous topic.

 

*

 

The long program was taking place two days later.

That afternoon, everything was loud inside the rink. The music playing as they were introduced to the crowd was deafening and it remained that loud throughout the six-minute warm-up.

Keith was going last.

He kept telling himself that he could do it, he could hold it together until the end of the evening. He was less than five points from the podium: if he went clean, he could jump on it.

He only now realized how much it meant for him, the medal, everything he was doing. He loved it. He loved being there on the ice, with Shiro beside him, he loved proving detractors wrong and defying expectations.

He needed-

He didn’t need to win. Not necessarily. What he needed was to do something that evening that he was going to be proud of. To leave that rink without a single regret.

The six minute warm up ended.

Shiro was the first one to go. Rachmaninoff’s music was dramatic and solemn, and even by itself it could hold the spectators’ attention, but in this occasion, Shiro could have skated without music and the crowd would have still watched him.

This time, before the program ended, Keith went back to the warm up area. He couldn’t let Shiro drain him again, like two days before. If he wanted to perform well, he needed to hold on to every emotion inside him and take them out at the right moment.

He didn’t even listen to the score.

There were two skaters going before him. Then it was his turn.

The music was from the movie _The Piano_ , a love story between a Scottish woman and a British man living in New Zealand. It was Kolivan who had pushed for this music, despite Keith’s confusion: yes, the main theme was nice, but Keith was neither a really romantic person at his core nor he was currently in a relationship. He had doubted his ability to properly convey the feeling that that was the soundtrack of a love story to the crowd. When asked, Kolivan had simply replied that he had no doubt Keith was going to make something beautiful out of that.

It was different now. As painful as it was, he had a well he could dip into, a place where he could look to find those feelings and share them with the audience.

When he assumed his starting pose, he knew what he wanted to tell.

The music started slow, to give him time to get the hardest jumps out of the way. He nailed the first one, stumbled on the combination, but he kept his composure. He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

Here the two lovers met. Carefully tiptoed around each other, trying to figure out the other person, unsure what to think of them. The choreography was more simple during that part, more reserved. He tried, he tried so hard to be all soft movements and grace during that part. Learning those movements was just part of the journey.

The third jumping passage was spotless, and so was the fourth one, the three jump combination. The hardest jumps were out of the way, although he couldn’t relax until all of his jumps were done.

He was doing something to the crowd. He felt their energy. He knew they were following him.

_“Better give them a good show.”_

He hoped Shiro was watching him. Because everything he was putting out was a tribute to everything Shiro had taught him during their time together. How to move, how to accompany the music, how excite the crowd.

And, inadvertently, what it felt like to be in love.

During the choreographic sequence he made sure to lock eyes with the people sitting in the first rows and in return he got an applause. _Yes, build the excitement, draw them in, make them feel part of your exhibition._

When he landed his last jump, it felt like his limbs were finally freed from the bandages they were trapped in. He threw himself in the step sequence, digging out his remaining energy, to give the audience a satisfying conclusion to his program.

His last spin was impossibly fast and for a moment he feared he was going to fall, but the music ended and he assumed his finishing pose, only to drop on his knees the next moment.

He fought for his breath and he fought back tears. He was not sad, quite the opposite, but the adrenaline, the exhaustion and the exhilaration of delivering the best program of the season created a mess of emotions on his head that wanted to come out in the form of tears.

He rested his forehead against the ice with eyes closed, his lungs burning, and thanked it. He got up on shaky legs and saw the flowers and the zealous kids picking them up.

 _“Those are for me,”_ he thought distractedly.

 _“Jesus, those are for me,”_ he thought again, when he realized how many gifts the audience was throwing. He bowed and skated out of the rink. Kolivan told him something, that he did well or something. He couldn’t really hear him. He automatically put on his jacket and took the water that was being offered.

He had no idea of what the standings currently were. He imagined that Shiro was on top, but he had no idea with which score.

He closed his eyes as he waited for the announcement.

_“His free skate score is a hundred and eighty-seven points.”_

He gasped and opened his eyes, to make sure he had heard right. Yes, there it was, bright on the screen, a season’s best and the highest score he had ever gotten internationally.

He gasped a second time when he realized that that score put him in third place.

He stood up, wide-eyed and still out of breath, and then turned to Kolivan. He wanted to run in the green, to Shiro and hug him and thank him, but he still had the skates on and he could hurt himself, so he hugged Kolivan, who was most definitely not expecting that.

His self-restraint gave up and he sprinted to the green room, where he flew himself between Shiro’s arms. He said something along the lines of _we made it_ , but the words didn’t come out right, his mouth was too dry, his face pressed against Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro was saying something too, but there was too much noise, he couldn’t make out what his friend was telling him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the 12 people who still care about this fic, sorry for the delay! I hope the chapter is satisfying nonetheless :)  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture gets misinterpreted, Keith has a masochistic side and Shiro texts Lance out of panic

When Keith came back from Skate America, Shiro greeted him by putting him in a headlock and ruffling his hair, telling him how proud he was of him for how he had handled the long program.

“I knew you could do it,” he said. “I’ve never seen you skate like that before, it was amazing.”

“Thank you.” Keith smiled and fixed his messy hair. “I owe it you to.”

“Nah, that was all you, Keith.”

That evening, as he was changing to go home, Keith realized that it was his birthday the next day and he had organized nothing.

He was not a fan of birthday parties. He was not a fan of celebrations and big gatherings in general. Shiro had asked him a few days before, if he was planning something, but he had just shrugged. He didn’t have too many people to invite, so he would have rather ate a slice of cake at the rink with the other students. That’s how he had celebrated the previous years. He couldn’t remember the last time he had thrown a party. As a child, his parents had taken care of that. But when he had become old enough to be supposed to take care of them himself, he had stopped inviting people over or going out to eat.

“If you still don’t have plans,” said Shiro, before they said goodbye in the parking lot, “how about we celebrate your birthday together? Tomorrow?”

Shiro surprised Keith with his offer, but after a short-lived indecision Keith accepted.

Why not? Just the two of them, having dinner together, as usual. The only difference laid in the occasion.

They made plans to meet the next evening after practice. Keith would have picked up Shiro at his place and they would have gone somewhere nice. When Keith pressed Shiro to know where they were going to eat, his friend kept the place irritatingly vague, saying that he wanted it to be a surprise.

Keith grumbled, but quickly stopped complaining, and let the excitement take over the frustration.

The next evening, when he arrived home, he was alone. His mother had told him that since he was out with Shiro, she and his father could go out for dinner too. He changed into nicer clothes – he decided, why not, to wear a shirt that evening. He had no idea where Shiro was going to take him, but he seemed to care a lot about the occasion, probably more than Keith actually, and so he didn’t want to let him down by acting disinterested in their evening together.

When Shiro jumped in his car, Keith was taken aback for a moment by how different, how _elegant_ he looked that evening. _To be honest_ , they spent most of their time together at the rink or at the gym, so Shiro – and Keith too – was usually tired and dressed in sweaty training gear in his presence.

Now he looked… _new_. He had put on a shirt and a blazer, he had just shaved and his hair was slicked back – now that he thought about it, Keith had gotten used to that white tuft and he even found it endearing.

“Is it always so shocking seeing me in normal clothes?” asked Shiro, seeing Keith’s face.

Shiro gave him the indications to the place they were going to, refusing to say the name of the restaurant. When they reached their destination, Keith saw a small Japanese restaurant, dimply lit and sober.

“I know that you like Japanese food, judging from your Instagram page,” explained Shiro as they entered. “By chance I found this place that makes food that is very close to what I found back at home. And I thought I could share this with you.”

“That’s perfect, Shiro. Thank you.”

The food was superb. It was different from the kind of Japanese food that Keith was used to have. Shiro proudly looked at his eyes sparkling eyes as he ate another slice of tuna.

“This is better than what you’re used to, admit it,” he told Keith.

“Mmh.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

Keith chuckled. “It’s definitely different.”

“And better.”

“Just different.”

As they walked out of the restaurant to head home, a woman followed them to ask them to take a picture. They accepted – she had been nice enough to at least wait for them to finish having dinner.

When they were under Shiro’s apartment, Shiro told him to come up, so he could give him his present.

It was just the two of them in the small house. Maybe it was because he was there in the occasion of his birthday, but the atmosphere in the room was slightly different. A little more intimate. Keith could see a hint of tension in Shiro’s shoulders, as he looked for the present.

He picked it up from one of the drawers of his dresser and they sat on the bed. Keith studied the wrapping, made of simple brown paper and decorated with colorful ribbons. He observed the package, turning it multiple times.

“Don’t just stare, open it!”

Keith carefully undid the knots and ripped the paper, to reveal a set of watercolors and brushes. He stared at them, too surprised to say anything: they were the same that he had seen in that shop in Salt Lake City, during their afternoon together.

“Shiro…”

“I went back and bought them before the short program. I couldn’t leave them there after seeing the look in your eyes.”

He had no words to express how grateful he was, so he just threw his arm around Shiro and squeezed him tightly.

He and Shiro had never hugged. They had grown astonishingly close for two people who had met only a few months before, but they had always avoided too much physical contact, apart from shoulder touches or playful gestures. There was not a reason for that, at least not on Keith’s end. He was not used to initiate physical contact, simple as that.

Shiro responded to the hug almost immediately. He wrapped his arms around Keith and rested his chin on his shoulder, smiling softly. And hoping that Keith couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating.

“Thank you, Shiro,” whispered Keith. He could have stayed like that forever.

 

*

 

A couple of days later Shiro had to leave for Skate Canada. Keith, Lance and Allura all followed the competition religiously, sitting together in Allura’s living room and having some snacks, ready to cheer for their friend when it was his turn.

“Remind me your assignments,” said Keith, as they waited for Shiro’s score to come up on the screen.

“Cup of China and Internationaux de France,” replied Lance.

“Nervous?”

“You bet,” said Allura.

They were the silver medalists at last season’s World Junior Championship, so they were entitled to two Grand Prix assignments, but they knew their chances of getting to the final were slim. That didn’t mean that they didn’t want to do their best and stand out as potential future champions.

He was idly scrolling through his Instagram feed as they waited for the warm up of the first group to end, when he got notified that someone had tagged him in a post. Without anything better to do, he tapped the screen to see what post it was.

_“What the fuck is a_ sheith _?”_ he thought, reading the post.

He saw that the picture that fan had taken with them outside of the restaurant had been shared hundreds of times.

There was not just that post, it was a whole hashtag: hundreds of post about them being… _a couple_? _What_?

Seeing his shocked face, Lance asked him what was wrong, but Keith dismissed his concern with a simple _“nothing”_. How could he explain it? _A bunch of people on the internet believe me and my best friend are in a relationship, no biggie_.

Whoever had tagged him in the post realized their mistake and untagged him.

It was too late anyway, but Keith appreciated the gesture nonetheless. He sat there, eyes glued to the screen of his phone, scrolling thought the pictures of them together at _Autumn Classic_ , edits, _there were even drawings, for fuck’s sake_.

He swiftly closed the app and put the phone away. He had seen enough.

Now that he thought about it… yes, they acted _more or less_ like a couple, in the sense that they liked to spend time alone, had dinner and watched movies together and tended to be very open and honest with each other.

But he didn’t-

He was not-

He didn’t like Shiro _that_ way.

And even if he did, it wouldn’t have been ideal. They were friends, he wouldn’t have ruined what they already had.

“You sure everything’s alright?” insisted Lance.

He nodded.

They watched Shiro win the silver medal and a chance to advance to the Grand Prix Final, chance that Keith had most likely already jeopardized. He didn’t wait for the end of the medal ceremony to text Shiro and congratulate him.

He received a text back a couple of hours later, a smiley face and a thumbs up.

_“Dork.”_

Shiro and Kolivan came back a couple of days later. Less than two weeks were left before the NHK Trophy and Keith and Shiro both had to be in perfect shape: Shiro had a solid chance of qualifying but he needed to stay on the podium, Keith had a shot and grabbing a spot for the final but only if he won the competition with a season’s best.

In the last days before the NHK Trophy, Keith kept doing reruns of his long program to try and recreate the feeling he had when he was competing at Skate America. Sometimes he started with the right emptiness of mind to let the music travel through him and carry him, sometimes just the feeling of the boots pressing on his feet was enough to distract him.

He had never stopped going to Shiro’s house to do their relaxation exercises, that Shiro needed now as well; in that moment they were essential to Keith, to not give in to frustration when training was not going the way he wanted.

Seeing that Shiro was feeling the pressure too, in a way helped him keep his stress under control, because the last thing he wanted was to be detrimental to Shiro’s state of mind.

The NHK Trophy was taking place in Sapporo and Shiro was thrilled to go back in Japan for a few days.

The evening of their arrival Shiro took Keith for a walk around town and instead of having dinner in the hotel’s restaurant, he brought Keith to one of the many places that made miso ramen, one of the local dishes.

“Should we invite Kolivan? We always leave him behind to go around on our own,” said Shiro.

“I wouldn’t worry about him. Iverson is here and they are on good terms, he has company. He’s either with him or he’s calling his husband.”

“Still…”

“Does Kolivan strike you as the kind who’s always seeking out company?”

Shiro laughed. “No, actually not.”

“And I like it better when it’s just you and me,” admitted Keith.

Shiro shot him a funny look and smiled. He could have told Keith that he felt the same, but he chose not to. He feared his voice might have trembled.

The short program took place a couple of days later in the morning. It was a good program for both of them, except for Shiro’s usual problems with the quadruple Lutz. It was so good for Keith, actually, that he was in first position after the short. He could not believe that that had happened – he was pretty sure the judges had been a little generous with the marks for presentation, probably rewarding the clean performance more than his actual skills.

That afternoon, instead of going back to their hotel, they stopped to watch the Ladies Short Program. The star of the day ended up being a girl from India, Nadia Rizavi, who conquered the spectators with her explosive skating.

The long program was the next day, in the evening, and the wait was excruciating. It was particularly hard for Keith, who was not used to being in the first position going into the free program and was feeling the pressure of staying on top _and_ earning a spot for the Grand Prix Final for the first time.

Shiro noticed how unusually surly Keith was. Keith may not have been a model of cheerfulness, but the guy always had in a smile for him. Not that day.

When the six minute warm up started, Shiro had to focus on himself, but he could not stop thinking about how Keith was feeling. He watched him fix the gloves of his burgundy costume, jump a couple of times and-

It happened in the fraction of a second.

Keith turned a little too late, reacted a little too slowly.

Shiro watched powerless as Keith crashed at an inhuman speed with another skater. He saw Keith’s slim frame knocked over by the other skater’s body, saw the head bounce off the ice in a way that happened only in a skater’s nightmare.

The scariest part, if there was even one moment that could be considered such, was seeing Keith not standing up.

_“He’s out,”_ though Shiro for a terrifying moment, as he frantically made his way to where Keith was laying. He felt his head become light and empty, every ounce of rational thought swept out by the immediate instinct to go help his friend.

_“Please, please, please, move, give a sign that you’re at least awake.”_

Immediately after, Keith started writhing in pain on the ice. The other skater seemed to be less affected by the fall and was already getting on his knees, face contorted by guilt and pain. Shiro saw Keith touch his forehead and look at his blood-stained fingers with empty eyes. It wouldn’t have been surprising if Keith had been in shock.

The other competitors realized only then what was wrong. The announcer asked them to leave the rink, so they could send the medical team to help Keith. Everyone needed to clear the ice, because avoiding another collision was the priority.

“Shiro, come here,” he heard Kolivan call him.

Horrified at the thought that he had to leave his friend there in pain, Shiro had to make an effort to redirect himself towards the exit of the rink. He clenched his fists, unable to take his eyes off Keith, who was still not getting up.

He stood beside Kolivan, watching as the medical team helped the suffering athlete leave the ice. He wanted to be out there, to be the one who took care of Keith; he couldn’t just _stare_. He saw Keith get back on his feet with uncertainty, limping. His stomach was turning into a boiling pot of worry, anger and anguish; so much, that he was not sure he would have been able to compete in only a few minutes.

He rushed to get Keith as soon as his friend was off the ice, getting to him even before Kolivan. He guided Keith back in the warm up area, where there were no cameras and less crowd. The medical team followed him protesting that they had to make sure that Keith didn’t have a concussion. They were able to finally pry Shiro off Keith, so he had to stay aside and watch as they checked his eyes and stitched his forehead.

When the medical team finally left, Shiro kneeled in front of Keith, hands resting on his friend’s thighs. Keith’s eyes were shut and his brows furrowed, still clearly in pain.

“Keith, buddy, how do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” was Keith’s eloquent answer. He put a hand over his eyes. “Shit. _Shit_ , this was not supposed to happen, not _now_.”

His only chance at qualifying for the final had most likely flew out of the window for something that was not even in his power to fix. There was little he could do about the pain in his right ankle – _why did it have to be the right, his landing foot?_ – and he could already count how many times it would have made him fall.

“Keith, you should withdraw,” said Kolivan, in a tone of voice that made his suggestion sound more like an instruction.

“What?”

Keith was sure the fall had affected his ears too.

“Kolivan’s right,” added Shiro. “You only risk hurting yourself more.”

Keith looked at Shiro, then at Kolivan and back at Shiro again, unable to believe what they were saying.

“Are you kidding me?” he said, almost outraged at the suggestion. “I’m here, I’m first, and you’re telling me to withdraw without even _trying_?”

“Yes,” answered Kolivan in a tone that didn’t leave any space for objections. “There’s a line between being brave and reckless and by going out there with stitches and a hurt ankle you are stepping over it.”

Keith clenched his teeth.

“Keith, _please_. I can’t force you to-” tried to add Shiro, but Keith cut him off.

“You’re right. You can’t force me to not go out there, just like I can’t force _you_ to not retire,” snapped Keith, before he could stop himself.

He immediately regretted talking.

Of all the things that Shiro had told him that evening, when he had confessed that he had changed coaches to meet him, the one that he couldn’t get out of his head was Shiro saying that retirement was not off the table yet. He might have promised to be there for the next Olympics, but what was a promise against the body’s needs?

Shiro was not supposed to know that he was still worried about that possibility, despite their pact. It was not his business, it was a decision that had to be taken by Shiro alone. He was not supposed to know how much he feared coming into the rink one day and hearing _“hey, these are my last weeks here”_.

Shiro stood up, his shoulders stiff as he made his decision.

“Okay. Do what you feel is right.”

Kolivan frowned and observed Keith without saying anything.

“I’m going out there,” declared Keith. His coach sigh deeply above him.

He might have not approved Keith’s decision, but that didn’t stop Shiro from helping his friend back to the rink. The first two skaters had completed their programs, both with not so great results – understandable, given the horrible incident that had just happened on the ice. Everyone was still a little shaken. Even Shiro’s performance was uncharacteristically lacking in energy and rapture.

When Shiro’s score came up, he couldn’t be happy about it: yeah, he was on top, and he was likely to stay there, but how satisfying could winning be, when his friend was competing with a wrecked ankle and stitches?

He quickly made his way to the green room with the other current top three skaters. He could not stand watching Keith’s program. He did not envy Kolivan, who had to stay and watch his student hurt himself. Even from there, he could hear the crowd gasp whenever Keith fell. By the end of the program he had counted three falls.

He kept his eyes away from the screen until he knew that Keith was in the Kiss and Cry waiting for the score. He looked… well, he looked like he had just been run over by a truck. He fixed the bandage covering his forehead and took off the right boot to give his ankle some relief, but couldn’t hide the winces of pain as his foot was forced to move. Beside him, a disgruntled and worried Kolivan put Keith’s track jacket over his student’s shoulders.

_“I’m gonna strangle him when he comes here,”_ thought Shiro.

The free program score, combined with the margin that he had after the short, was just enough to keep him in the third place. Keith was not the kind to get emotional in the Kiss and Cry, but when the camera zoomed on his face, Shiro saw that he was teary-eyed. He couldn’t work out whether those were tears of disappointment for his bad luck, of relief for managing to stay on the podium, or if it was just pain and the rush of adrenaline that followed such a difficult program.

Shiro watched as Keith was guided out of the arena, presumably in an area where they could give him further medical attention.

_“If he was here, I would strangle him,”_ he thought.

*

 

For obvious reasons, Keith had to skip the medal ceremony. Shiro looked sadly at the empty spot on his left, where his friend should have stood. The only thing that made the absence better was knowing that he was being taken care of and that Kolivan was with him.

Later that evening they were relaxing in Keith’s hotel room, taking advantage of the fact that his roommate was competing. Keith’s ankle had been properly bandaged and his face was regaining color.

“Never scare me like that again, please,” begged him Shiro, putting a hand on Keith’s leg.

Keith chuckled. “I can’t really promise you that.”

“Then next time something like this happens, I’m gonna strap you to a bed.”

“I didn’t know you had a kinky side.”

For reasons that Keith didn’t know, that humorous remark made Shiro flush and stammer.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

*

 

Lance’s phone chimed.

_“I’m gonna tell him”_

_“??? Shiro, my dear friend, what are you talking about?”_

_“I’m gonna tell him that I’m in love with him”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter, kudos and comments (along with grammar corrections) are always appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: usually the World Junior Championship takes place before the Senior one, but, well, I decided to twist things a little for plot reasons.


End file.
